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THE  FIRST  ROUND 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 


The  Absurd  Repentance 
The  Vintage  of  Dreams 
The  Florentine  Chair 
Aubrey  Ellison 
Quicksilver  and  Flame 
The  Marble  Sphinx 
Poems 
New  Poems 
Gallio 

The  Oxford  Book  of  French  Verse 
The  Rose-Winged  Hours 
Ronsard 


LIBRARY  mil' MU  fl 
OF  THE  ’ ' ‘ j , 

UNIVERSITY  OF  ILUM#* 

THE  FIRST  ROUND 


ST.  JOHN  LUCAS 


SECOND  EDITION 


METHUEN  & CO. 

36  ESSEX  STREET  W.C. 
LONDON 


First  Published  . . September  23rd  igog 

Second  Edition  . , November  /909 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


PART  I 


I 


THE  valley  was  already  in  darkness,  but  a faint  twilight 
hung  about  the  great  curve  of  the  moor,  and  a long 
rift  of  yellow  sky  still  shone  where  the  sun  had  set.  Immense 
and  inky  squadrons  of  cloud  were  driving  heavily  from  the 
north,  and  large  drops  of  rain  began  to  patter  crisply  on  the 
shrivelled  leaves  of  the  brambles  and  the  tawny  bracken. 
The  wind  had  the  unfamiliar  sharpness  of  early  autumn, 
and  there  was  a tonic  fragrance  in  the  smell  of  the  earth  that 
was  moist  at  last  after  two  almost  rainless  months.  A few 
^ lights  gleamed  from  the  cottages  below  the  hills,  and  the 
v,  whistle  of  the  homing  shepherd  set  the  farmyard  dogs  barking, 
i From  the  meadows  there  came  the  drowsy  sound  of  lowing 
j kine,  and  the  sheep  were  bleating  noisily  in  the  folds. 

A few  minutes  before  the  yellow  gleam  in  the  west  was 
J wholly  devoured  by  the  advancing  night,  any  one  in  the 
||  village  who  had  chanced  to  be  looking  up  to  the  shoulder  of 
'T  the  moor  might  have  seen  a human  figure  that  was  silhouetted 
> against  the  pallor  of  the  sky.  This  figure  stood  for  a time  on 

fthe  horizon,  as  if  its  object  was  to  be  visible  to  some  one 
__  waiting  in  the  darkness  below ; then,  employing  the  homely 
" process  of  placing  a thumb  in  either  corner  of  its  mouth,  it 
^ emitted  three  shrill  whistles,  flapped  something  that  might 
‘ __  have  been  mistaken  in  the  dusk  for  a pair  of  wings,  and  began 
to  descend  towards  the  valley.  Seen  from  behind,  it  had  the 
'£  aspect  of  a yellow  triangle  bisected  exactly  with  a black  line. 
^ Unless  you  had  been  only  a few  yards  away,  you  would 
scarcely  have  realised  the  figure  to  be  that  of  a small  girl 


A 


! 078980 


2 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


carrying  a basket,  the  yellow  triangle  to  be  a real,  grown-up 
mackintosh  which  had  been  abbreviated,  and  the  black  line 
a very  long  pigtail. 

It  is  possible  that  she  had  heard  an  answer  to  her  signal, 
for  she  descended  the  hillside  quickly,  her  strong  shoes 
crunching  amongst  the  stones  of  the  path,  and  occasionally 
sticking  in  the  wet  earth  and  emerging  with  an  uncanny 
gurgle.  She  did  not  seem  depressed  by  the  difficulty  of  her 
way,  but  sang  softly  to  herself  as  she  went.  Before  she  had 
gone  far,  however,  a sudden  deluge  of  rain  began  to  drive 
heavily  across  the  face  of  the  hill,  and  the  big  drops  pattered 
on  her  yellow  garment  like  arrows  on  the  armour  of  some  hero 
of  old  wars.  The  valley  was  blotted  out  in  an  instant  • she 
glanced  around  her,  and  knew,  though  she  could  not  see  it, 
that  she  was  near  a hovel  which  was  almost  in  ruins.  She 
tucked  her  pigtail  inside  the  mackintosh  and  ran  like  a 
chamois  towards  shelter. 

The  hovel  had  been  built,  for  purposes  long  since,  forgotten, 
in  a disused  gravel  pit,  and  leant  against  the  scarped  side  of 
the  hill  with  the  weary  languor  of  extreme  antiquity.  The 
little  girl  reached  the  quarry  in  a very  short  time,  and  was 
making  for  the  draughty  entrance  to  the  building  when, 
rather  to  her  astonishment,  she  discovered  that  she  was  not 
the  sole  intruder  in  that  usually  lonely  place.  A boy  about 
her  own  age  was  walking  solemnly  to  and  fro  amongst  the 
plentiful  pools  of  rain  which  lay  on  the  muddy  ground. 

The  little  girl  was  in  no  way  embarrassed  by  his  presence, 
but  stood  well  in  the  shelter  of  the  doorway  and  shook  her 
mackintosh.  Then,  without  speaking,  she  watched  the  dim 
figure  of  the  boy,  who  continued  his  absurd  goose-step  in 
the  slime  without  taking  the  least  notice  of  her.  Perhaps 
this  ungallant  treatment  roused  her  curiosity  ; for  at  length, 
when  he  was  near  her,  she  remarked  briefly,  ‘ You  ’ll  get  wet.’ 

The  boy  halted,  and  stood  in  front  of  her. 

‘ I shan’t ; I am,’  he  said  presently.  Though  his  voice 
was  gentle,  the  curt  sentences  could  scarcely  be  regarded 
even  by  a garrulous  person  as  a conversational  opening. 
The  girl,  however,  was  equal  to  the  occasion. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


3 


4 Then  you  'll  get  wetter/  she  said  decidedly.  The  boy 
waited  there  for  a moment,  as  if  he  were  uncertain  whether 
her  remark  implied  an  invitation  to  take  shelter  which  it 
would  be  rude  to  refuse.  Then  he  turned,  and  began  to  walk 
away.  When  he  had  made  a couple  of  steps,  however,  he 
slipped  and  almost  fell  headlong  into  a puddle,  but  saved 
himself  by  dropping  backwards  on  to  the  palms  of  his  hands. 
The  little  girl  watched  him. 

4 Now,  you  are  wetter,'  she  said,  with  critical  calm. 

The  boy  laughed  suddenly  and  softly  as  he  picked  himself 
up,  and  came  to  stand  in  the  doorway.  He  could  see  nothing 
of  her  but  a gleaming  yellow  mackintosh,  and  two  large  dark 
eyes  set  in  a blurred  white  oval. 

4 Who  are  you  ? ' he  asked,  as  he  wrung  the  rain  out  of  his 
cap.  The  little  girl  stared  fixedly  at  him,  and  lowered  her 
voice  to  a thrilling  whisper. 

4 I 'm  a witch  from  over  the  moors/  she  answered.  4 And 
that 's  why  I know  who  you  are.  I know  quite  well.  You  're 
the  little  boy  who 's  the  son  of  the  man  that 's  ' — she  spoke 
with  slow  emphasis — 4 that 's  the  Apostle  of  Respectability.' 

4 No,  I 'm  not.  My  father 's  a doctor,'  said  the  boy. 

4 My  father 's  a wizard,'  said  the  little  girl,  4 and  so  he  knows 
everything,  and  he  says  that  your  father  is  the  Apostle  of 
Respectability.  So  he  is,  even  if  you  don't  know  it.' 

4 Oh  ! ' said  the  boy.  He  thought  for  a moment.  4 I 
wonder  why  your  father  the  wizard  said  that,'  he  murmured. 

4 He  said  it  because  it  is  true,'  replied  the  girl,  with 
appalling  finality.  The  boy  did  not  seem  to  hear  her,  and 
continued  to  think. 

4 I expect  it 's  because  he  always  wears  a top-hat,'  he  said 
at  length.  Then  he  cried,  all  in  a breath,  4 I know  who 
you  are  now,  and  I know  who  your  father  is ; he  isn't  a 
wizard,  and  I 've  a good  mind  to  tell  you  what  my  father 
calls  him.'  As  this  threat  was  followed  by  a cold  silence, 
he  added,  4 He  calls  him  a Bohemian.' 

This  word  seemed  to  impress  the  little  girl.  4 What 's  that  ? ' 
she  asked  suspiciously. 

4 I don't  know,'  the  boy  answered. 


4 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


The  girl  changed  the  subject.  ‘ Why  were  you  walking  up 
and  down  in  the  rain  ? ' she  asked. 

The  boy  was  silent.  After  a while  he  spoke  in  a lower 
voice. 

‘ You  wouldn't  understand  if  I told  you/  he  said.  He 
saw  her  eyes  flash  in  the  darkness. 

‘ Witches  understand  everything/  she  retorted,  and  the 
yellow  mackintosh  crackled  with  indignation. 

4 I like  the  feel  of  rain  on  my  face/  explained  the  boy, 
quite  humbly.  ‘ It 's  as  if  cold  fingers  were  stroking  you.' 

The  girl  meditated  profoundly  on  this  speech. 

‘ So  do  1/  she  said  at  length.  Then  she  added  pensively, 
‘ You  aren't  like  many  boys.' 

‘ That 's  what  my  father  says,'  remarked  the  boy  rather 
mournfully. 

‘ Oh,  the  Apostle ' began  the  little  girl.  But  the  boy 

went  on  speaking. 

‘ And  that 's  why  I 'm  going  to  school,  to  get  dike  other 
boys,  and  I 'm  going  to-morrow,  and  it 's  just  beastly.'  He 
spoke  without  heat,  and  in  the  tone  of  one  who  was  solemnly 
certain  of  what  he  affirmed.  ‘ There  won't  be  this  kind  of 
thing  at  school,'  he  added,  with  a gesture  in  the  direction 
of  the  puddles.  Apparently  they  seemed  to  him  the  symbols 
of  his  vanishing  freedom.  He  took  a few  steps,  as  if  to  enjoy 
the  squelching  sound  that  is  the  attribute  of  excessively  damp 
shoes. 

‘ I expect  school  will  be  fun,'  said  the  little  girl. 

‘ This  is  much  funnier,'  said  the  boy,  and  his  arm  swept 
up  towards  the  moor.  The  wind  sang  in  the  stunted  haw- 
thorns that  fringed  the  edge  of  the  quarry,  and  his  eyes  glowed. 

‘ It 's  all  alive  to-night,'  he  said. 

‘ It 's  all  alive  always,'  said  the  girl. 

The  boy  nodded  solemnly.  ‘ But  it  goes  to  sleep  in  summer, 
sometimes,'  he  said.  ‘ In  winter  it  can't  sleep,  and  has  to 
go  on  and  on.  That 's  why  it  groans.  It 's  thinking  of  all 
the  strange  places  it  has  to  go  to.' 

The  little  girl  had  a flash  of  perception. 

‘ Like  a boy  going  to  school,'  she  suggested. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


5 


Her  companion  kicked  a stone.  4 Yes,  that ’s  it,’  he  said. 

The  little  girl  seemed  to  be  thinking.  4 I should  like  to  be 
a wind/  she  said  sedately  ; 4 I should  like  to  be  a wind  that 
could  guide  itself  and  go  to  Japan  and  the  Falls  of  Niagara 
and  the  North  Pole  and  places  like  that.  I mean  to  go  to  all 
the  countries  that  are  blue  and  yellow  and  purple/ 

4 Blue  and  yellow  and  purple  ? * cried  the  boy. 

4 On  the  map/  she  explained.  4 But  my  father  says  it ’s 
no  use  going  anywhere  unless  you  come  back  with  an  en- 
chanted carpet  folded  up  inside  your  head.  Then  you  can  go 
back  whenever  you  want  to.  And  he  says  that  very  few 
people’s  heads  are  big  enough  to  hold  enchanted  carpets/ 

4 My  father  doesn’t  say  that  kind  of  thing,’  remarked  the 
boy  solemnly. 

4 Does  he  tell  you  stories  about  Greece,  and  teach  you  to 
model  in  clay,  and  sing  you  Spanish  songs,  and  play  the 
guitar  and  make  salads  ? ’ she  inquired. 

The  boy  seemed  quite  overwhelmed  by  this  volley  of 
questions.  His  jaw  dropped.  4 No,’  he  answered  feebly. 

The  girl  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

4 He  doesn’t  seem  much  of  a father,’  she  said  with  disdain. 

4 Look  here ’ began  the  boy ; but  before  he  could  formu- 

late a rebuke  they  heard  the  sound  of  a voice  at  the  edge  of 
the  quarry,  and  the  girl  ran  from  his  side. 

4 Here  I am,  daddy,’  she  cried,  4 and  I ’ve  found  a boy,  and 
he  hasn’t  been  taught  to  make  salads,  and  I don’t  know  his 
name,  and  he ’s  going  away  to  school,  and  he ’s  the  son  of  the 
Apostle  of  Re-spect-a-bil-i-ty.  So  I want  to  take  him  home 
with  us/ 

4 My  dear,’  said  a man’s  voice,  4 try  not  to  behave  like  a 
female  tornado.  You  seem  utterly  deficient  in  any  sense  of 
shame.  I ’ve  wandered  all  over  the  hill,  looking  for  you  in 
all  the  rabbit  holes  and  empty  nutshells,  and  now  you  whirl 
down  on  me  like  a charge  of  Amazons  and  frighten  me  out  of 
my  aged  wits.  Produce  your  boy  that  I may  slaughter  him.’ 

4 He  won’t  really  slaughter  you,’  said  the  girl  to  the  boy, 
who  could  just  see  an  enormous  man  towering  between  him 
and  the  scudding  clouds. 


6 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


‘ Never  believe  a woman/  said  the  enormous  man.  * Tell 
me  your  name  before  you  die,  young  victim/ 

‘ Denis  Yorke/  said  the  boy. 

‘ Son  of  the  doctor/  explained  the  little  girl,  ‘ the  man  with 

the  pale  brown  whiskers  that  you  call  the  Apostle ' 

Her  father  cut  the  sentence  short  with  an  immense  gesture. 

‘ He  is  rather  an  unusual  boy/  she  added,  in  the  voice  of  an 
old  lady  of  eighty. 

* He  is  an  artist/  said  her  father  ; 1 a musician.  With  his 
own  hands  he  played  the  Battle  of  Prague,  by  request  of  the 
Vicar's  wife,  at  that  carnival  of  crime  called  the  village 
concert.  He  also  played  the  Maiden's  Prayer,  by  request  of 
the  Vicar's  daughter.  So  he  shall  die.  No,  he  shall  live. 

I forgot  that  I passed  by  his  house  one  evening  and  heard  him 
playing  Handel.'  He  purred  a few  notes  in  a soft  baritone. 

‘ Heaven  deliver  us  ! ' he  cried  suddenly,  4 if  we  aren't 
beginning  to  talk  music  on  a cold  hillside  at  seven  o'clock 
of  a damp  evening.  Good-bye,  Mr.  Denis.  Rosalind,  make 
a bow  to  the  gentleman  and  decamp.  The  frogs  are  chanting 
in  the  marshes,  and  the  gaunt  spectre  of  rheumatism  stalks 
us  privily.' 

‘ I shan't  say  good-bye  to  him/  announced  the  little  girl 
suddenly,  4 unless  he  promises  to  come  and  see  me.  He  is 
to  come,  isn't  he,  daddy  ? If  he 's  a musician  he  ought  to 
hear  you  sing.' 

4 The  voice  of  the  tyrant  is  heard  on  the  hill/  warbled  the 
immense  man.  4 You  hear  what  it  says,  Mr.  Denis.  You 
can  come  and  revel  in  polite  conversation,  a bun,  and  a grand 
piano,  if  you  care  for  such  follies  after  your  first  term  at 
school.  Don't  forget  the  Handel,  and  turn  a deaf  ear,  on  all 
occasions  but  this,  to  the  prayers  of  maidens.  Good-bye.' 
He  wagged  his  head,  which  seemed  to  Denis  to  strike  the  stars. 

4 Good-bye,'  said  the  little  girl.  Then  she  added  im- 
periously, 4 You  're  to  like  school.' 

4 I shan't,'  said  Denis.  To  his  surprise  and  annoyance, 
she  placed  her  hands  on  his  shoulders  and  kissed  him  swiftly 
and  emphatically  on  both  cheeks.  Then  she  ran  after  her 
father. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


7 


1 I gave  him  two,  daddy  ! ’ Denis  heard  her  say  in  a voice 
shrill  with  triumph.  The  large  man  groaned  musically  as 
they  disappeared  into  the  night. 

When  the  sound  of  their  voices  had  died  away,  Denis 
stood  in  a pool  of  rain,  shivering  gently,  and  meditated.  The 
immense  man  was  obviously  a kindly  lunatic,  though  he  had 
a voice  so  soft  and  tunable  that  it  made  you  feel  calm  and 
happy  from  the  moist  lining  of  your  cap  to  the  damp  soles  of 
your  boots  ; the  little  girl  was  more  difficult  to  classify  ; she 
seemed,  without  saying  anything  in  particular,  to  make  you 
feel  that  she  understood  what  you  felt  yourself  although  you 
couldn’t  say  it.  He  wondered  if  there  were  many  little  girls 
in  the  world  who  could  give  you  this  sensation.  Heretofore 
his  idea  of  the  species  had  been  drawn  from  a small  cousin 
who,  in  company  with  her  truly  ghastly  mother,  had  stayed 
at  his  father’s  house  for  two  black  days  in  the  previous  year, — 
a child  who  wore  very  long  buttoned  boots  on  her  thin  legs, 
drawled  plaintively,  and  spent  most  of  her  time  in  hotels  on 
the  Continent.  The  owner  of  the  pigtail  seemed  an  improve- 
ment on  this  languid  but  impish  old  woman  of  twelve. 

The  few  words,  too,  that  the  immense  lunatic  had  said 
about  music  expressed  everything  which  he  himself  had  dimly 
felt.  Although  the  martial  strains  of  the  Battle  of  Prague 
lured  a gleam  into  the  dull  eyes  of  the  Vicar’s  wife  (a  lineal 
descendant,  my  dears,  of  the  Black  Prince),  although  the 
arpeggii  of  the  Maiden’s  Prayer  fell  like  consoling  showers  on 
the  gentle  soul  of  the  Vicar’s  daughter  (who  meant  to  marry 
the  baby-faced  curate,  but  didn’t ; and  we  all  agreed  that  he 
behaved  abominably),  Denis  was  always  conscious  that  these 
great  works  of  art  said  less  to  him  than  the  lightest  airs  that 
haunted  the  moor.  They  were  full  of  indoor  sounds, — 
rattlings  of  pots  and  plates  and  quacking  voices,  but  in  Handel 
he  could  hear  the  hills  that  echoed,  and  the  laughter  of  valleys 
that  were  joyous  with  much  corn.  Only  a few  days  before, 
he  had  found  an  old  book  of  music  by  a foreigner  called 
Beethoven,  and  though  the  notes  were  too  swift  and  too 
difficult  for  his  faltering  fingers,  he  was  able  to  play  certain 
chords  which  sent  a strange,  pleasant  shiver  down  the  nape 


8 THE  FIRST  ROUND 

of  his  neck.  He  wondered  if  the  immense  man  knew  of 
them. 

As  a rule  he  was  dumb  and  dreary  as  an  Early  Victorian 
statue  when  he  encountered  strangers,  but  to-night  he  had 
felt  different,  though  he  had  only  spoken  a few  words.  What 
was  it  in  the  little  girl  which  had  made  him  tell  her  that 
the  moor  was  alive  ? He  knew  that  he  would  not  have  said 
such  a thing  to  any  one  else, — to  his  father,  for  instance. 
He  knew  also  that  he  had  tried  to  say  something  that  he 
really  felt,  and  not  something  that  was  expected  of  him. 
It  almost  seemed  as  if  you  went  about  the  world  with  your 
pockets  full  of  counters, — all  but  one,  and  that  was  a very 
distant  pocket,  narrow  and  hard  to  find,  but  full  of  gold, — 
and  you  gave  the  counters  to  people  who  passed  them  back 
to  you  ; but  the  gold  you  groped  for  when  you  met  certain 
people,  and  they  kept  it,  and  gave  you  strange  gold  of  their 
own  in  return.  Not  that  the  lunatic  and  the  little  girl  had 
given  him  any  gold,  but  he  felt  that  they  had  it  somewhere 
about  them. 

The  rain  had  ceased,  and  in  the  dark  spaces  of  sky  beyond 
the  scudding  clouds  a few  stars  were  visible.  As  he  looked  up 
at  the  black  slope  of  the  moor  the  oppression  that  had  haunted 
him  all  day  became  heavier.  It  seemed  to  him  that  to-morrow 
he  would  be  forced  to  become  a new  person,  with  all  sorts  of 
dreadful  unknown  responsibilities,  and  the  thought  made  his 
heart  sink.  He  had  always  been  a lonely  child — for  to  be 
motherless  is  to  suffer  the  supreme  initiation  into  solitude — 
and  loneliness  either  teaches  its  votaries  to  become  precocious 
egotists,  or,  with  the  finer  natures,  develops  the  imaginative 
powers  to  a pathetically  early  maturity.  It  had  followed  the 
latter  course  with  Denis  ; bereft  of  a mother  who  would  have 
sympathised  with  him  by  instinct,  and  lacking  companions  of 
his  own  age  to  put  him  into  ponds,  and  lead  him  into  mischief, 
and  generally  to  jostle  and  obtriturate  him,  body  and  soul, 
he  had  found  refuge  in  fairylands  of  his  own  devising  ; or 
rather,  he  had  made  his  home  a fairyland,  where  the  trees 
and  hills  and  ancient  rocks  understood  him  when  he  talked, 
and  themselves  spoke  a language  simpler  and  more  sonorous 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


9 


than  English  ; where  the  wind  was  a flying  god  with  vast 
and  shadowy  wings,  and  the  moor  itself  a lazy,  benevolent 
monster  that  allowed  men  to  walk  over  it  as  longshore  folk 
walk  on  a stranded  whale.  To  the  possessor  of  this  Paradise 
the  artificial  persons  who  were  called  the  Vicar  and  the  Vicar’s 
wife  seemed  pale  and  intruding  shadows  ; George  the  shepherd 
and  Jake  the  hedger  were  nearer  reality,  being  gnarled  and 
rugged,  and  in  some  dim  way  sharing  the  antique  honour  of 
the  earth  ; but  even  they  never  attained  the  great  invariable 
dignity  of  the  stones  in  Wanbury  Circle,  or  the  eloquence 
of  certain  melancholy  pines  and  cross-grained  hawthorns. 
Sometimes  he  felt  as  if  he  had  been  living  in  intimate  com- 
munion with  these  things  for  a thousand  years  ; and  when  he 
had  first  heard  that  he  was  to  go  away  to  school  the  words 
seemed  quite  without  meaning  ; his  soul  was  rooted  to  the 
place  as  securely  as  the  base  of  one  of  those  immortal 
monoliths,  and  when  his  father  spoke  of  public  school  life 
he  listened  politely  but  incredulously,  as  one  listens  to  the 
recital  of  some  preposterous  nightmare. 

He  took  a kind  of  angry  pleasure  in  the  general  discomfort 
of  things  ; damp  clothes,  sodden  boots,  chilly  fingers  and  a 
wailing  wind  seemed  appropriate  in  their  dreariness  to  his 
dejected  soul.  Presently  he  struck  a match,  and  inspected 
the  glistening  raindrops  on  his  coat.  Then  he  turned  once 
more  to  stare  across  the  dark  incline  of  the  uplands.  The 
moon  came  swimming  into  his  view  from  behind  a huge 
fortress  of  cloud,  so  that  he  could  see  the  row  of  ancient 
hawthorns  that  mocked  him  with  their  twisted  limbs.  The 
smell  of  the  wet  brambles  seemed  like  a soft  hand  that 
clutched  his  throat.  He  hid  a silver  pencil-case  in  a corner 
of  the  hut  as  a pledge  to  Nature  in  general  of  his  return,  and 
began  to  stumble  down  the  path  that  led  to  the  village.  If 
only,  he  thought,  he  could  contrive  for  once  to  talk  to  his 
father  as  the  little  girl  talked  to  the  immense  man  ! 


IO 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


II 

AT  the  foot  of  the  hill  he  heard  the  signboard  of  the 
village  inn  clanging  in  the  wind  like  a body  that  hung  in 
chains,  and  saw  the  whitewashed  gables  stare  at  him  like  twin 
ghosts  through  a row  of  lean  Scotch  firs.  As  he  came  down 
the  road,  however,  the  noise  of  the  swinging  sign  was  drowned 
by  the  less  mournful,  if  less  romantic  music  that  was  expressed 
from  a concertina  played  with  all  the  crescendo  effects  of 
which  that  disastrous  instrument  is  capable.  It  came  along 
the  road  to  him,  volleying  discords,  and  the  rhythm  that  it 
followed  made  Denis  think  that  its  player  was  alternately 
taking  immensely  long  and  ridiculously  short  steps,  varied 
by  an  occasional  wild  lurch  towards  the  hedgerow.  But 
very  soon  the  legs  of  the  concertina  came  in  sight,  moving 
steadily  amongst  the  moonlit  pools  of  the  road.  Apparently 
it  was  only  the  music  that  staggered. 

The  concertina  and  the  legs  stopped  at  the  same  moment 
when  they  were  close  to  Denis,  and  a voice  with  a most 
unfamiliar  cadence  said  to  him  very  cheerfully : 

4 How-a-many  maile  to  anywhaire  ? ’ 

Denis  halted,  stared,  and  was  about  to  make  some  sort  of 
reply,  when  the  door  of  the  Black  Horse  flew  open  like  a trap 
in  a pantomime,  and  a large  figure  appeared  in  the  flood  of 
light  that  streamed  through  the  doorway. 

‘ You  come  back  again  ! ' said  the  figure  with  appalling 
eloquence.  ‘ You  come  back  again,  you  parlyvoo,  and  I 'll 
break  every  blasted  bone  in  your  blasted  carcase.  Go  to  hell ; 

d’  ye  hear  ? Go  to  hell,  or  I 11  set  the dogs  on  you, 

you , of  an  alien  immigrant.  Yes,  you  come  back 

again  ! 9 

The  sincerity  of  the  last  invitation  was  emphasised  by  a 
loud  bang  of  the  door,  and  the  landlord  returned  to  the  bar- 
parlour,  breathing  all  the  fire  and  brimstone  of  outraged 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


n 


respectability.  The  glow  of  light  from  the  porch  had  enabled 
Denis  to  inspect  the  object  of  this  rather  vivid  rhetoric.  He 
was  a dark-haired,  dark-eyed  boy,  obviously  Italian,  and 
clad  almost  in  rags.  A large  concertina  hung  from  his 
shoulders  by  a broad  and  greasy  leather  strap.  He  grinned 
from  ear  to  ear  when  the  landlord  addressed  him. 

4 He  mean  I not  to  come  back/  he  explained  to  Denis  when 
the  door  was  shut,  and  squeezed  the  concertina  till  all  its 
notes  snarled  discordant  defiance.  4 How  many-a  maile  to 
anywhaire  ? * he  repeated. 

4 Oh  ! ’ shrieked  Denis,  instead  of  replying,  for  it  seemed 
to  him  that  a dwarf  with  tiny  sinewy  arms  had  caught  him  by 
the  leg  and  was  trying  to  drag  him  down  to  subterranean 
dungeons.  He  put  down  a hand  to  free  himself,  and  felt 
something  small  and  furry  which  bit  him  smartly  in  the 
fleshy  part  of  the  thumb.  The  musician  gurgled  with  intense 
delight. 

4 It  is  my  monkey/  he  explained,  4 name  Ognissanti/  He 
gave  a little  whistle  like  the  note  of  a bullfinch,  and  the 
monkey  ran  up  his  leg,  crawled  over  the  concertina,  and 
sprang  to  his  shoulder,  where  it  sat  nestling  against  his 
cheek  and  whining  softly.  The  boy  produced  an  enormous 
handkerchief,  which  had  once  been  yellow,  and  wrapped  it 
carefully  round  the  little  beast. 

4 Rain  make  him  freddo/  he  said  ; 4 then  he  snizz,  same  as 
us/  And  he  imitated  the  act  of  sneezing  several  times  with 
great  realism. 

Denis  found  him  interesting.  4 Do  you  walk  about  playing 
that  ? * he  asked,  pointing  to  the  concertina. 

4 I play  il  violino/  the  artist  answered  with  a certain  pride, 
4 what  you  call  fideel.  But  not  in  Ingleland,  in  Roma  alone. 
I am  a Roman/ 

4 Oh  ! ’ said  Denis  politely,  4 do  you  know  the  Pope  ? 9 

4 He  is  my  father/  replied  the  Italian  promptly.  Denis 
thrilled  : adventure  had  indeed  overwhelmed  him  to-night. 

4 You  shall  give  me  some  money/  continued  the  affable 
stranger,  4 and  I will  tell  him  to  say  prayers  for  you.  Then 
you  go  to  heaven/ 


12 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


Denis  felt  dimly  that  this  was  an  anticlimax,  and  was 
uncertain  of  the  efficacy  of  purchased  prayer.  ‘ Where  are 
you  going  now  ? ’ he  asked,  as  his  cold  fingers  chased  two 
pennies  about  a pocket. 

' Don't  know,'  answered  the  boy  with  immense  cheerfulness. 
'Far  off  from  that  filth  of  Satan  and  his  dogs.'  And  he 
shook  his  fists,  which  he  did  not  clench  in  the  manner  of 
Englishmen,  at  the  drawn  blinds  of  the  Black  Horse. 

‘ But  don’t  you  know  where  you  ’re  going  to  sleep  ? * 
cried  Denis. 

The  stranger  grinned.  ‘ Know  that,’  he  answered : 

4 somewhaire  under  the  moon,  like  you,  lee  tie  signorino.’ 

He  held  out  a dirty,  persuasive  paw,  this  Roman  of  Rome, 
and  his  teeth  gleamed  in  the  moonlight.  When  Denis 
presented  him  with  his  two  moist  pennies  he  took  off  his 
hat  with  a flourish  and  bowed.  The  gesture,  Denis  felt, 
would  have  been  cheap  at  a guinea. 

' Haven’t  you  any  friends  ? ’ he  asked. 

With  smiles  and  shrugs  the  Italian  answered  that  his 
partner  in  art  was  awaiting  him  in  a town  on  the  further  side 
of  the  moor.  Also  the  wife  of  his  partner.  He  was  on  his 
way  to  join  them. 

Some  words  that  his  father  had  spoken  came  into  the  mind 
of  Denis  as  he  stood  looking  at  this  fascinating  adventurer. 
* Kindness  to  another , my  dear  boy , is  one  of  life's  most  profitable 
investments .’  Golden  words  indeed ! He  decided  to  put 
them  into  practice. 

‘ I live  near  here,’  he  said  ; 4 if  you  come  with  me  my  father 
will  let  you  sleep  at  his  house.  And  if  you  are  really  the  son 
of  the  Pope,’  he  added,  rather  doubtfully,  ‘ he  will  ask  you 
to  have  dinner  with  him.’ 

He  was  surprised  that  the  Italian  did  not  seem  very  much 
impressed  with  this  invitation.  ' No,  no,’  said  the  stranger, 

' he  will  have  beasts  of  dogs.’  And  he  imitated  the  growls 
of  an  angry  bull-terrier  so  cleverly  that  Denis  clapped  his 
hands  and  Ognissanti  whined  poignantly.  Denis  assured 
him  there  were  no  dogs,  and  that  his  father  was  very  kind. 
Only  the  other  day  he  had  made  a beautiful  speech  about  the 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


13 

poor  people  in  workhouses.  But  the  Italian  shook  his  head 
violently. 

1 Wild  beasts  of  dogs ! ' he  reiterated.  * See ! ’ He 
pulled  up  his  trouser  and  displayed  a rather  fat  leg.  * Eaten 
all  over/  he  explained  ; but  it  was  too  dark  for  Denis  to  see 
the  scars. 

‘ I mean  it,  really/  pleaded  Denis,  his  heart  wounded  by 
visions  of  the  former  adventures  of  the  leg.  4 Do  come  ! 
There  'll  be  food,  and  a violin,  and  comfortable  chairs,  and 
he 's  a doctor  and  you  can  show  him  where  the  dogs  bit  you, 
and — and  a warm  fire,'  he  concluded.  His  own  teeth  were 
chattering  with  cold. 

This  picture  of  a domestic  heaven  seemed  to  captivate  the 
stranger.  He  meditated. 

‘ How  far  to  the  next  place  ? ' he  demanded  abruptly. 

‘ Five  miles,'  said  Denis  ; ‘ and  it 's  across  the  moors,  and 
you  're  certain  to  lose  your  way.  And  there  'll  be  dogs,  big 
sheep-dogs  with  different  coloured  eyes.' 

The  stranger  made  up  his  mind.  * I come  with  you, 
gentleman,'  he  said,  * but  when  the  father  see  me  he  will  be 
same  as  the  filth  of  Satan  in  there,'  and  he  pointed  to  the 
Black  Horse. 

Denis  protested.  ‘ You  don't  know  my  father,'  he  said. 

The  Italian  only  gurgled  in  a rather  irritating  manner. 

‘ You  see  ! ' he  said. 

A walk  of  a few  minutes  brought  them  to  the  Red  House. 
As  they  went  under  the  dripping  trees  that  flanked  the  short 
drive,  the  stranger,  who  had  become  suddenly  shy,  kept  on 
glancing  warily  around  him,  and  when  they  stood  under  the 
lamp  that  overhung  the  front  door,  Denis  realised  with 
amazement  that  the  son  of  the  Pope  was  wearing  an  expression 
of  abject  fear. 

‘ I wait  here,'  he  said,  but  Denis  opened  the  door  quietly, 
and  managed  to  lure  him  inside  the  house,  Ognissanti,  con- 
certina and  all.  He  removed  his  hat,  which  pleased  Denis, 
and  began  to  stroke  the  monkey,  who  was  terrified  by  the 
sudden  light. 


14 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


' I 'll  go  and  tell  my  father,*  said  Denis  : 1 wait  here.* 
He  went  towards  the  study.  When  he  looked  back,  it  seemed 
to  him  that  the  Italian  and  Ognissanti  were  positively 
clinging  to  each  other  for  protection  against  some  imminent 
unknown  terror.  He  smiled.  How  surprised  they  would  be 
when  his  father  came  to  talk  to  them  ! 

He  knocked  at  the  study  door. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


15 


III 

WHILST  Denis  was  engaged,  probably  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  in  receiving  friends  on  his  own  ac- 
count, Dr.  Wilmot  Yorke  and  Mr.  Gabriel  Searle  were  discuss- 
ing him  over  teacups  in  the  Red  House.  Wilmot  Yorke  was  a 
gaunt  person  of  five-and-fifty,  with  a stubborn  jaw  and  rather 
large,  anxious  eyes.  He  looked  like  a man  whose  contemplation 
of  his  own  blameless  past  was  spoiled  by  a habit  of  regarding 
the  future  as  an  impenetrable  wall  with  many  loose  coping- 
stones  that  would  presently  fall  and  pulverise  him.  Searle, 
on  the  contrary,  appeared  to  be  dreamily  resigned  to  all  the 
shocks  and  arrows  of  fate.  He  had  a bruised  rose-leaf  air 
which  fluttered  the  kind  hearts  of  various  ladies  to  whom  he 
read  Tennyson.  It  was  whispered  that  some  great  sorrow 
had  darkened  the  skies  of  his  youth.  He  was  rector  of  a 
small  village  about  seven  miles  from  the  doctor's  door,  and 
had  a reputation  for  satire  amongst  his  parishioners. 

‘ I never  had  the  good  fortune  to  attend  a public  school,' 
said  Wilmot  Yorke,  * and  I have  regretted  it  all  my  life.' 

Mr.  Searle  lit  a cigarette  over  the  lamp,  and  then  fell  back 
in  his  chair  with  a little  sigh  of  contentment. 

‘ Why  ? ' he  asked. 

* Why  ! * repeated  Dr.  Yorke,  almost  indignantly.  ‘ Why  ! 
Because  it  sets  a stamp  on  a man  ; polishes  him  up,  rubs  off 
his  angles,  gives  him  friends  who  aren't  all  aiming  at  the  same 
kind  of  career  as  himself.  I never  made  a friend  till  I walked 
the  hospitals.  And  friends  in  one's  own  profession, — it 's 
never  the  same.  Look  at  yourself ! The  fellows  you  liked 
at  Oxford  you  like  still.'  Dr.  Yorke  clasped  and  unclasped 
his  bony  hands.  Mr.  Searle  smiled  ; he  had  a peculiarly 
slow  smile  that  unkind  persons  compared  with  the  dawn  of  a 
rainy  day  in  winter. 

* There  is  only  one  reason  why  a man  should  go  to  a public 


1 6 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


school/  he  said  softly,  * and  that  is — if  he  has  done  so  he  will 
be  less  likely  to  make  a fool  of  himself  when  his  son,  in  due 
course,  is  sent  to  the  same  kind  of  place.  You,  my  dear 
Yorke,  are  exactly  the  parent  to  make  a boy's  life  a burden 
to  him  with  your  indiscretions.  You  are  slightly  irascible, 
deeply  sentimental,  wise  about  other  people's  bodies  and  as 
thick-headed  as  possible  about  their  minds.  On  the  first 
occasion  when  Denis  catches  a cold  you  will  send  sensible  and 
abominably  impertinent  letters  to  the  housemaster  and  the 
school  doctor.  On  the  first  occasion  when  Denis  gets  into  a 
scrape  you  will  write  to  the  headmaster,  the  housemaster, 
and  the  sixth  form,  explaining  that  your  profound  knowledge 
of  his  temperament  makes  you  quite  certain  that  the  whole 
affair  is  a horrible  piece  of  injustice,  that  he  is  the  scapegoat 
and  the  stalking-horse  of  a gang  of  evil-minded  monsters. 
When  Denis  is  expelled — when  Denis  is  expelled  you  will 
ruin  his  future  chances  in  life  by  writing  frantic  letters  to 
the  Guardian , and  the  Times , and  the  British  Medical  Journal 
and  the  two  Houses  of  Parliament.  If  you  don’t  commit  all 
these  crimes,  at  any  rate  you  will  bully  the  boy  about  dry 
boots  and  greatcoats  and  holy  and  unholy  thoughts, — 
things  to  which  he  will  consider  the  least  allusion  indecent, — 
and  you  'll  probably  keep  him  short  of  pocket-money  to  teach 
him  the  virtues  of  economy.  You  'll  do  all  this  because  you 
are  passionately  fond  of  him,  and  he  will  become  more  and 
more  estranged  from  you,  and  because  he 's  a good  boy  he  '11 
hate  himself  for  it,  and  be  perfectly  miserable,  all  through 
your  kindness.  That,'  concluded  Mr.  Searle,  in  his  most 
placid  accents,  ‘ is  what  will  happen  unless  you  learn  to  treat 
him  with  infinite  tact,  in-fin-ite  tact.’ 

Wilmot  Yorke  scarcely  listened  to  the  conclusion  of  his 
friend's  remarks.  The  reference  to  a possibility  of  Denis — 
of  his  boy — being  expelled  from  school  was  too  fantastic 
even  to  amuse  him. 

‘ I don't  think  your  warning  is  as  necessary  as  you  seem  to 
imagine,  Searle,'  he  said  shortly.  ‘ Denis  and  I understand 
each  other  thoroughly.  We  're  more  like  brothers  than 
father  and  son.  I trust  him  and  he  trusts  me/ 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


1 7 


1 If  he  trusts  a sentimentalist  with  a fiery  temper  he  's 
a young  ass  ! ' said  Mr.  Searle  flippantly.  4 But  you  don't 
know  him  • he  has  a very  strange  temperament,  and  you 
don't  think  about  temperament.  Nor  does  he  know  you  ; 
but  he  will  very  soon  begin  to  learn.  You  've  talked  to  him 
sentimentally  about  all  the  virtues,  and  though,  as  far  as  I 
can  see,  you  haven't  made  a prig  of  him  as  yet,  you 've  given 
him  an  enormously  high  standard  as  regards  honour  and 
kindness  and  all  that.' 

* Well,'  said  Wilmot  Yorke.  ‘ Isn't  that  right  ? ' 

* Quite  right,'  said  Searle  ; * but  it 's  all — it 's  all  theory, 
conventional  theory.'  He  waved  an  elegant  hand.  Dr. 
Yorke  leant  forward  and  looked  at  him  severely. 

* You  're  talking  philosophy  that  is  beyond  me,'  he  said. 

4 I don't  profess  to  follow  you.' 

‘ Well,  put  it  this  way,'  said  Searle.  ‘ When  he  goes  into 
the  world, — into  the  unjust,  illogical,  but,  on  the  whole, 
bracing  world  of  a school,  he  will  find  a different  standard 
altogether  ■ a workaday,  practical,  eminently  decent  stan- 
dard, but  one  which  will  seem  quite  inconsistent  with  your 
sentimental  ideals.  His  first  contact  with  life  will  be  like 
touching  the  handles  of  an  electric  battery.  This,  after  a 
while,  will  make  him — we  won't  say  suspicious — but  interested 
in  your  conventional  theory.  Then  you  'll  have  to  face  a hard 
fact.  He  will  discover  that  you  are  inconsistent.' 

‘ But  I 'm  not,'  said  the  astounded  Dr.  Yorke.  Searle 
flung  his  cigarette  end  into  the  fire. 

‘ Of  course  you  are,'  he  said  gaily.  ‘ Every  one  with  ideals 
is  inconsistent,  and  the  man  whose  ideals  are  conventional  is 
the  worst  sinner  of  all.  Conventional  ideals  are  founded  on 
catchwords  and  built  up  with  ignorance.  That  is  why 
they  're  so  lofty  and  empty,  and  tumble  down  like  card  houses 
when  the  great  wind  of  reality  blows  through  them.  But  all 
I want  to  say,  really,  is  this.  Denis  thinks  that  you  're 
perfect  because  you  have  preached  perfection  at  him  with 
a horrid  kind  of  romantic  fervour.  Take  care  that  he  dis- 
covers your  imperfection  gradually.  As  I said,  he  has  a 
peculiar  temperament.' 

B 


i8 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


Dr.  Yorke  shook  his  head  hopelessly.  ‘ I can't  make  out 
whether  you  are  talking  about  Denis  or  about  me,'  he  said. 
* I Ve  taught  the  boy  to  be  good,  I hope.  Goodness  seems 
to  me  an  eternal  truth.' 

‘ Of  course  it  is,  of  course,'  said  Searle.  ‘ But  like  all 
eternal  truths,  it  has  many  false  and  fleeting  aspects.  It 
roams  the  world  in  every  disguise.  Now  have  you  taught 
him  to  recognise  goodness  in  its  various  aspects  ? Aren't 
you  sending  him  into  the  world  armed  with  a cut-and-dried 
formula  instead  of  an  open  mind  ? ' 

Dr.  Yorke  was  almost  goaded  into  epigram.  ‘ It  seems 
to  me,'  he  said,  ‘ that  the  open  mind  is  curiously  receptive 
of  all  that  is  evil.  To  me  good  is  good  and  bad  is  bad.' 

The  effect  of  this  portentous  utterance  was  that  Searle 
dropped  the  subject  of  ideals  as  one  drops  hot  iron. 

‘ Denis  will  keep  up  his  music  at  school,  I hope,'  he  said. 

‘Yes,'  answered  Yorke.  ‘ But  it  will  not  be  allowed  to 
engross  him  so  completely.  He  has  grown  much  tpo  fond  of 
it  lately.  It  was  difficult  to  make  him  go  out : he  went  to 
the  piano  the  moment  his  lessons  were  over.  School  will 
alter  that,  and  it  will  alter  his  solitary  habits.  When  he  does 
go  out,  he  likes  to  spend  whole  days  on  the  moor  by  himself, 
doing  nothing.  Cricket  and  football  are  what  he  wants. 
And  friends  of  his  own  age,  of  course.  He  hasn't  any  at 
present.  Boys  don't  interest  him.' 

‘ He  hasn't  had  much  chance  here,'  said  Searle. 

‘ There  are  the  young  Challoners,'  said  Wilmot  Yorke. 
‘ At  one  time  they  were  always  asking  him  to  go  there,  but  he 
never  cared  about  it.  I was  very  much  vexed  that  he  was  so 
shy,  for  they  would  have  done  him  no  end  of  good.  They  're 
real  boys  * no  dreaminess  about  them  ; they  ride,  and  swim, 
and  run  all  day  with  the  beagles,  and  keep  dogs  and  ferrets. 
I hope  Denis  will  get  to  know  them  better  at  school.' 

‘ Oh,  they  're  pleasant  young  barbarians,'  Searle  agreed, 
without  enthusiasm.  Then  his  thin  face  puckered  into  a 
mildly  malicious  smile.  ‘ I met  Bob  Challoner  to-day,'  he 
said.  ‘ He  seemed  to  be  rather  amused  by  something  that 
you  said  to  him.' 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


19 


‘ What  was  it  ? * asked  Dr.  Yorke  with  dull  suspicion. 

‘ Something  about  seeing  that  Denis  wore  warm  clothing 
for  football/  answered  Searle.  ‘ From  the  peculiarly  medi- 
tative and  innocent  smile  that  he  wore  when  he  spoke  of 
it,  I imagine  that  our  young  friend  Bob  will  not  forget  your 
command/ 

‘ Bob  is  a capital  boy — a capital  boy/  declared  Wilmot 
Yorke  emphatically.  ‘ He  is  thoroughly  manly,  and  manliness 
is  what  Denis  has  to  learn/ 

‘ Your  idea  of  manliness  consists  in  keeping  ferrets  and 
playing  cricket  and  being  religious  by  rule/  said  Searle  with 
sudden  warmth,  ‘ but  there  is  a finer  kind,  and  Denis  has  it. 

I confess  that  the  robustious,  thoughtless,  jostle-through- 
life-without-worrying  temperament,  though  it  produces 
hundreds  of  eminently  respectable  and  athletic  curates, 
seems  to  me  rather  apt  to  make  a virtue  of  its  own  solidity, 
as  a rhinoceros  might  make  a virtue  of  his  hide.  I have  a 
foolish  preference  for  the  mind  which  is  not  absolutely  alien 
from  thought  and  finds  a joy  in  reverie ; I believe,  in  spite 
of  modernity,  that  the  founder  of  an  idea  is  greater  than  the 
man  who  starts  a soup-kitchen  or  endows  a public  library. 

But  then ’ his  voice  regained  its  habitual  softness,  and  he 

spoke  with  just  the  slightest  hint  of  a lisp.  ‘ But  then  I was 
up  at  Magdalen  in  the  late  seventies/  It  was  this  particular 
intonation  that  caused  Searle’s  bishop,  an  exceedingly  plain 
man  from  Cambridge,  to  yearn  secretly  for  some  modern 
equivalent  to  the  authority  of  Torquemada. 

‘ The  thing  is  to  combine  the  two/  said  Wilmot  Yorke. 
Whether  he  referred  to  the  blending  of  soup-kitchens  and 
free  libraries,  or  to  some  spiritual  union  of  virtues,  remains 
unknown,  for  at  that  moment  there  was  a knock  at  the  door, 
and  Denis  entered.  His  coat  was  glistening  with  rain,  and 
the  doctor  at  once  became  bad-tempered  and  fatherly  and 
fussy.  Denis  submitted  meekly  to  a tirade,  and  shook  hands 
with  Gabriel  Searle,  whom  he  rather  liked.  Searle  noticed 
that  his  eyes  were  shining,  and  that  he  seemed  unusually 
restless  whilst  his  father  delivered  an  exhortation. 

* I 'm  very  sorry/  he  said,  rather  breathlessly  : ' I would 


20 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


have  come  in  before, — yes,  father,  I 'll  go  and  change  now, 
— but  I met  some  people  on  the  hill,  in  the  old  quarry  where 
the  man  hanged  himself.  Mr.  Searle,  do  you  know  the  girl 
with  the  pigtail  ? ' 

Mr.  Searle  knew  her.  * He  means  Duroy's  little  daughter,' 
he  explained  to  Wilmot  Yorke.  4 I have  seen  her  about  with 
him,  and  if  she 's  as  good  as  she  looks,  she  must  be  a pigtailed 
angel.  She  has  the  nicest  black  eyes  that  I ever  saw.' 

‘ I don't  know  her,'  said  Wilmot  Yorke,  ‘ but  her  father  is 
the  type  of  man  that  I particularly  dislike.' 

* Oh,  but  he  was  there  too  ! ' cried  Denis,  ‘ and  he 's 
splendid,  just  like  a big  brown  bear, — and  knows  music. 
And  then,  coming  through  the  village,  I met  a poor  Italian 
boy  who  hasn't  got  a home,  and  he  plays  the  concertina,  but 
really  the  violin,  and  says  he 's  the  son  of  the  Pope.  So  I 
brought  him  here  to  supper.'  He  paused,  astonished  by  his 
father's  eyebrows.  ‘ You  don't  mind,  do  you  ? ' he  asked, 
his  voice  dropping  suddenly.  ‘ I knew  you  would  hate  to 
think  of  him  out  there  all  night  in  the  wet.' 

There  was  a brief  silence,  and  then  Searle  laughed. 

* Now  then,  Yorke ! ' he  said,  and  rubbed  his  hands 
together. 

Dr.  Yorke  rose  quickly. 

‘ Denis,'  he  said,  ‘ are  you  telling  a foolish  lie  ? ' 

Denis  flushed  painfully.  ‘ No,'  he  said  ; ‘he 's  out  there, 
in  the  hall,  near  the  umbrella-stand.  I thought  I 'd  better 
leave  him  there.  You  see,  he 's  got  his  monkey  with  him.' 

4 His  monkey  ! ' said  Dr.  Yorke,  as  if  the  mere  mention  of 
that  luckless  beast  was  proof  that  the  visitor  stood  beyond 
the  pale  of  decency ; 4 his  monkey  ! the  young  rascal ! ' He 
made  for  the  door,  followed  by  Denis  and  Gabriel  Searle. 
The  last  gentleman's  face  was  extraordinarily  sphinx-like,  and 
the  corners  of  his  lips  were  drawn  down  into  two  heavy  creases. 

The  Italian  grinned  as  this  procession  approached  him,  and 
bowed  magnificently.  Dr.  Yorke  walked  heavily  past  him 
to  the  hall  door,  flung  it  open,  looked  at  the  intruder,  and 
pointed  meaningly  to  the  darkness.  The  Italian  stared 
straight  in  his  eyes,  and  his  body  stiffened  like  an  extended 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


21 


steel  spring.  Then  he  turned  to  Denis  and  smiled  quite 
merrily  and  triumphantly.  A moment  later  he  had  slipped 
swiftly  through  the  doorway  and  was  gliding  down  the  drive. 

‘ Young  rogue  ! ' said  the  doctor.  ‘ Never  do  that  again, 
Denis/  He  slammed  the  door.  Searle  looked  at  Denis, 
and  saw  two  burning  eyes  in  a white  face,  and  lips  that  strove 
to  shape  themselves  to  speech.  The  boy  was  staring  up  at 
his  father  as  if  he  were  some  prodigy  in  a museum. 

‘ But  he  was  hungry  ! ' he  gasped  out  suddenly,  * and  cold 

— and  wet.  You  can't — you  couldn't ' Words  seemed 

to  choke  him  ; but  he  kept  his  eyes  on  his  father's  face. 
Dr.  Yorke  turned  on  him  with  swift  anger. 

‘ Go  up  at  once  and  change,'  he  said  harshly.  But  as 
Denis  reached  the  foot  of  the  staircase  he  called  in  his  usual 
tone,  ‘ And  don't  forget  about  your  socks.' 

Denis  gasped  again,  and  climbed  the  stairs  in  a dazed 
kind  of  way.  The  remark  about  socks,  coming  after  this 
event,  made  him  feel  as  if  he  had  been  stabbed  to  the  heart 
and  then  fed  with  wedding-cake.  As  he  looked  again  at  his 
father  he  remembered  the  purple-faced  publican  who  had 
vociferated  obscenity  from  the  threshold  of  the  Black  Horse. 
‘ Come  again , and  I 'll  break  every  blasted  bone  in  your  blasted 
carcase  ! ' Was  this  what  his  father  would  have  said,  felt 
like  saying  ? 

Mr.  Searle,  who  was  staying  for  the  night  at  the  Red  House, 
retired  into  the  study  directly  after  dinner  for  the  purpose  of 
finishing  a review  of  a dull  theological  book  for  a duller 
theological  paper.  Dr.  Yorke  and  Denis  sat  in  the  dining- 
room, and  the  boy  listened  to  his  father  while  he  discoursed, 
rather  vaguely,  on  the  duties  and  privileges  of  the  new  life. 
At  school,  Denis  was  told,  there  were  good  boys  and  bad  boys, 
and  his  task  was  to  imitate  the  good  boys  ; to  do  what  they 
did  ; to  shun  the  things  that  they  avoided.  A new  life  in 
which  he  would  be  a new  creature,  that  was  the  text  of  the 
sermon.  His  heart  sank  as  he  thought  of  the  unknown  place, 
where  every  one  and  everything  would  conspire  to  make  him 
into  a stranger  from  the  self  that  he  had  evolved  in  the  lonely 
happiness  of  his  childhood  ; he  was  himself,  he  felt  dimly  ; 


22 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


how  could  he  imitate  other  boys  ? Or  why,  if  he  couldn't 
be  himself  any  longer,  should  he  be  obliged  to  become  like 
Bob  Challoner,  whom  his  father  mentioned  with  approval 
as  a type  for  him  to  copy  ? Bob  Challoner  hated  music, 
and  was  unmoved  by  the  brooding  mystery  of  moorland,  and 
hardly  knew  a spring  flower  by  name,  and  never  heard  voices 
in  the  wind,  and  regarded  birds  not  as  friends,  but  as  targets 
for  his  abominable  catapult.  Denis  did  not  think  of  himself 
as  in  the  least  degree  superior  to  Bob  Challoner,  he  only 
knew  that  he  was  quite  different.  Bob  was  happy,  and  so 
was  he  ; but  no  one  required  Bob  to  give  up  his  catapults 
in  order  to  find  a rarer  joy  in  Beethoven's  sonatas,  why, 
therefore,  should  he  himself  be  expected  to  submit  to  the 
reverse  ? Manliness,  said  Dr.  Yorke,  was  the  thing  to  strive 
for,  but  he  drew  a picture  of  manliness  that  made  it  seem  to 
Denis  an  insensate  carnival  of  fisticuffs,  shouts,  everlasting 
action, — ‘ always  be  doing  something , Denis  ; never  moon 
about ' ; — and  hecatombs  of  slain  beasts  and  birds.  Denis 
listened  in  patient  silence  until  the  lecture  ended. 

‘ Will  all  the  country  round  the  school  be  out  of  bounds  ? ' 
he  asked,  ‘ and  are  there  any  hills  ? ' 

Dr.  Yorke  was  inclined  to  be  irritated  by  questions  that  he 
considered  irrelevant. 

‘ You  mustn't  expect  to  get  much  time  to  loaf,'  he  answered. 

‘ I want  you  to  go  in  for  cricket  and  football  keenly,  and 
grow  up  strong  and  well,  and  be  popular  with  the  masters 
and  the  other  boys.'  He  paused  for  a moment.  ‘ Always 
remember  that  is  what  mother  would  have  wished,'  he  said, 
with  real  but  strangely  awkward  emotion.  ' Always  remem- 
ber that  she  is  watching  you,  Denis.' 

Denis  thought  of  his  mother.  She  had  died  when  he  was 
four,  and  he  had  only  vague  memories  of  her  gentle  voice  and 
dreamy  eyes.  Would  she  really  have  cared  whether  he 
became  an  enthusiast  for  football  ? He  hungered  to  believe 
that  she  was  watching  him  always  ; but  years  ago  he  had 
decided  that  she  could  see  him  no  longer.  . . . He  would 
have  known  ; he  would  so  surely  have  known.  He  sat  in 
silence,  twisting  his  fingers  uneasily,  and  looking  uncom- 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


23 


fortable.  He  was  already  acutely  sensitive  to  sound,  and  the 
thrill  in  Dr.  Yorke’s  voice  when  he  spoke  of  his  dead  wife 
always  seemed  faintly  ostentatious.  Denis  felt  this  without 
actually  formulating  it  into  thought ; it  was  many  years  later 
that  he  learnt  how  often  perfectly  sincere  people  with  limited 
minds  unconsciously  mimic  the  theatrical  methods  of  the 
posturer  when  they  speak  of  anything  that  affects  them  deeply. 

Both  father  and  son  were  relieved  when  Gabriel  Searle 
finished  his  religious  journalism  and  returned  to  join  them. 
Searle  perceived  at  once  that  the  seance  had  been  a limited 
success:  Dr.  Yorke  was  fidgeting  with  fire-irons,  and  Denis 
had  blank  eyes.  It  occurred  to  him  then  that  there  were 
latent  possibilities  in  the  boy  of  an  obstinacy  beyond  that 
of  all  mules,  but  he  did  not  expound  this  theory  to  his  host. 
He  refused,  indeed,  to  talk,  and  insisted  on  Denis  playing  a 
duet  with  him.  He  was  an  excellent  musician,  and  made  the 
duet  a success  in  spite  of  Denis,  who  seemed  listless  and  out 
of  form.  Dr.  Yorke  beat  time  incorrectly  with  his  fingers 
and  stared  at  the  fire. 

4 Bedtime,  Denis/  he  said  when  the  music  was  ended. 
Denis  came  to  him  and  raised  his  face  for  the  usual  good-night 
kiss,  but  he  said  gruffly  and  hastily,  4 We  must  shake  hands 
in  future,  my  boy/  Denis  looked  at  him  oddly  for  a moment, 
then  shook  hands  with  him  and  Searle,  and  went  out  quickly. 
Dr.  Yorke  rose  with  a fine  air  of  unconcern,  and  met  Searle’s 
eyes.  Searle  smiled  his  lazy,  semi-satirical  smile. 

4 Is  it  really  necessary, — that  kind  of  thing  ? * he  asked. 

From  the  open  window  of  his  bedroom  Denis  looked  out  on 
the  calm  and  friendly  stars  that  shone  above  the  dark  shoulder 
of  the  moor,  and  felt  a certain  consolation  in  the  thought 
that  they  at  any  rate  would  survive  from  the  life  that  he  was 
leaving.  The  night  was  clear  ; the  great  battalions  of  cloud 
had  rolled  away,  and  a soft  wind  breathed  the  comforting 
fragrance  of  damp  earth  from  the  hills.  He  leant  out  of  the 
window,  straining  his  eyes  towards  the  dim  horizon,  and 
wondered  where  the  irresponsible  feet  of  the  Italian  had 


24 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


carried  Ognissanti  and  the  concertina.  He  was  haunted  by 
the  memory  of  the  brief  drama  that  had  been  enacted  in  the 
hall,  and  strove  to  forget  it  in  imagining  the  details  of  the 
wanderer's  life  for  the  next  few  days, — how  he  would  sleep 
in  the  straw  of  some  sequestered  grange,  and  be  wakened  by 
the  earliest  twitter  of  birds,  and  walk  on  in  the  broadening 
sunlight  whilst  the  grass  was  still  bright  with  a million  dew- 
drops,  and  drink  milk  at  some  hospitable  farm  for  the  price 
of  a song.  Before  dinner — perhaps  because  he  himself  had  a 
notable  hunger — he  had  pitied  all  vagabonds,  thinking  of 
them  as  poor  outcasts  in  darkness  ; but  now  he  began  to 
wonder  whether,  after  all,  they  were  really  so  unfortunate  as 
he  had  imagined.  To  be  up  with  the  sun  and  to  walk  where 
you  pleased  in  the  shining,  singing  world,  carrying  music — 
like  the  immortal  lady  of  Banbury  Cross — wherever  you  went, 
heedless  of  clocks  and  watches  and  all  the  other  instruments 
in  the  torture-chamber  of  routine, — was  this,  at  any  rate 
when  you  were  young,  really  a life  of  misery  ? The  Italian 
had  seemed  sufficiently  happy  in  spite  of  the  rain  and  the 
scars  on  his  legs  ; but  it  was  not  only  his  happiness  that 
made  him  interesting  ; he  seemed  to  be  tingling  all  over  with 
some  odd  kind  of  power  that  was  manifested  in  every  gleam 
in  his  eyes  and  every  movement  of  his  limbs  < he  seemed 
so  extraordinarily  alive  ! Beside  him,  Denis  thought,  his 
father,  and  Mr.  Searle,  and  every  one  whom  he  had  ever  met, 
seemed  like  agreeable  statues.  What  was  this  mysterious 
liveliness  ? Did  it  come  from  being  a vagabond,  free  as  the 
thistledown  that  sails  in  the  summer  wind  ? Why  did  it 
seem  so  interesting  ? What  was  there  in  the  Italian's  eyes 
that  he  had  seen  in  the  eyes  of  certain  beasts  and  birds, — 
a keen  yet  kind  sort  of  wisdom  that  somehow  you  felt,  never 
really  thought , — something  never  seen  in  his  father’s  eyes, 
which  were  hard  and  bright  like  lake  water  after  a fall  of 
snow,  or  in  those  of  Mr.  Searle,  which  had  the  dull  and  dreamy 
gaze  of  the  stone  angels  in  church.  Could  some  people  be 
more  real  than  others  ? That  seemed  ridiculous. 

The  thought  of  eyes  in  general  reminded  him  of  a pair  of 
very  large  dark  ones  that  he  had  lately  seen,  and  he  realised 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


25 


with  a little  quiver  of  astonishment  that  the  girl  with  the 
pigtail  also  had  this  strange,  newly  discovered  attribute  5 it 
seemed  as  if  she  must  always  feel  like  a person  in  an  adventure, 
as  if  she  were  as  different  from  vicars’  wives  and  daughters 
as  a young  tiger  is  different  from  an  ancient  and  sleepy  cat. 
And  her  father  was  in  some  queer  way  like  her ; he  would 
have  made  friends  with  the  Italian  boy  at  once,  and  not 
turned  him  out  of  his  house ; and  though  he  was  so  big  he  had 
bright  eyes  that  seemed  to  enjoy  everything  in  the  world. 
He  realised  now  why  his  father  disliked  the  enormous  man. 
They  were  so  absolutely  different, — as  opposite  to  each  other 
as  black  to  white, — yet  how,  why  ? He  could  not  define 
the  difference,  he  could  only  feel  absolutely  certain  that  it 
existed  and  was  insuperable.  The  phrase  quoted  by  the 
little  girl — ‘ Apostle  of  Respectability  ’ — was,  he  believed, 
connected  in  some  way  with  it ; the  curt  exit  of  the  Italian 
from  the  front  door  was  caused  by  the  same  kind  of  feeling 
that  made  his  father  dislike  the  enormous  man.  Yet  he  knew 
that  the  enormous  man  would  not  dislike  his  father,  though 
he  might  laugh  at  him.  Was  the  enormous  man,  then, 
the  better  and  kinder  of  the  two  ? And  why  did  people  whom 
his  father  disliked  attract  him  and  seem  like  friends  to  him 
at  once  ? Was  the  world  made  up  of  two  kinds  of  people  ? 
Why  did  the  Vicar’s  wife,  who  was  good  and  pious,  always 
look  as  if  she  had  eaten  a sour  apple,  and  always  say  unkind 
things  about  every  one  ? The  enormous  man  neither  looked 
nor  spoke  in  that  way,  yet  he  was,  one  knew,  not  nearly 
so  good  and  pious  as  the  Vicar’s  wife. 

People  like  his  father  and  the  Vicar’s  wife,  he  concluded 
— he  did  not  know  what  a step  he  had  made  on  the  ladder 
of  philosophy  in  classing  them  together — such  people  made 
rules  about  good  and  bad,  and  were  better  than  any  one  when 
the  rules  worked  all  right,  but  when  anything  happened  to 
which  the  rules  didn’t  apply  they  were  rather  at  a loss  what 
to  do.  That  was  why  his  father  had  been  so  queer  about  the 
Italian.  His  father  was  really  awfully  kind,  but  had  no  rule 
made  about  Italians,  and  so  he  became  angry  and  turned  him 
out.  Denis  tried  to  be  satisfied  with  this  explanation,  yet 


26 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


the  fact  remained  to  trouble  him  that  his  father  had  been  mean 
where  another  person — the  enormous  man,  for  example— 
would  have  been  generous. 

Denis  had  been  brought  up  with  great  religious  strictness  and 
said  his  prayers  every  night.  But  if  Dr.  Yorke  could  have 
heard  his  prayer  on  that  evening  he  would  have  been  some- 
what astonished.  ‘ O God/  Denis  prayed,  ‘ grant  that  I 
may  forget  that  father  turned  out  that  boy,  because  I don't 
want  to  remember  that  father  did  a thing  like  that,  for  Christ’s 
sake,  Amen.’  He  did  not,  as  Dr.  Yorke  had  commanded  him, 
invoke  a blessing  on  his  school  life.  When  he  rose  to  his  feet 
he  stood  staring  at  his  corded  box  for  some  time,  and  then 
he  turned  to  the  window  for  a last  look  at  the  tranquil  night. 
The  dim  outline  of  the  hill  was  like  the  face  of  a friend  whom 
he  would  behold  no  more.  As  his  glance  rested  on  it  he 
thought  of  the  Italian,  not  with  pity,  but  with  an  aching  envy, 
and  when  he  blew  out  the  light  his  eyes  were  smarting  with 
rebellious  tears. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


2 7 


IV 

THE  great  and  famous  school  which  Denis  was  destined 
to  adorn  was  built  on  a lonely  heath  about  five-and- 
twenty  miles  from  London,  and  the  dome  of  its  chapel  was  a 
noteworthy  landmark.  The  aesthetic  stranger,  approaching 
from  the  south,  might  become  enthusiastic  over  the  long 
fa$ade  with  Ionic  porticoes  that  flanked  the  playing-fields, 
but  his  admiration  would  probably  be  more  restrained  when 
he  entered  the  large  quadrangle  and  gazed  on  its  four  sides 
of  penitential  yellow  brick  and  its  insignificant  cloisters  to 
right  and  left  of  the  chapel.  Outside  the  quadrangle  were 
scattered  various  useful  buildings  that  offended  the  eye  ; 
new  boarding-houses  and  a sanatorium, — also  in  yellow 
brick,  a racquet-court  and  a water-tower  ; gymnasiums,  and 
a pink  memorial  to  a departed  headmaster  that  vaguely 
suggested  vestry-meetings.  The  architecture  of  the  school 
certainly  did  not  blend  into  a whole  that  the  most  short- 
sighted optimist  could  have  pronounced  to  be  lyrical ; the 
yellow  bricks  were  dreadfully  suggestive  of  a prison  or  a 
lunatic  asylum, — a suggestion  that  was  not  dispelled  by  the 
formidable  chevaux-de-frise  which  bristled  over  the  gateways, 
or  the  heavy  bars  that  guarded  the  external  windows, — and 
meditative  undergraduates,  however  greatly  they  had  loved 
their  life  at  school,  were  apt  to  regret  that  the  place  had  no 
grey  cloisters  or  ancient  oriels  which  would  serve  as  a fair 
frame  to  their  memories  of  it. 

Hither,  on  the  afternoon  which  followed  the  Italian 
adventure,  came  Dr.  Yorke  and  Denis  in  a weather-worn 
vehicle,  and  entered  the  ponderous  and  marble  jaws  of  the 
lodge  gates.  Denis  knew  enough  Latin  to  be  able  to  translate 
the  Sursum  Corda  that  was  carved  on  a white  stone  tablet 
above  the  doors,  but  at  that  moment  he  felt  quite  unable  to 
obey  its  monition.  A few  boys,  strangers  like  himself,  were 


28 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


standing  about  the  lodge,  and  stared  at  him  as  he  went  by. 
One  of  them  read  the  name  on  his  box  in  a clear  voice  for  the 
benefit  of  the  others,  which  annoyed  Denis.  He  walked  across 
the  quadrangle  with  his  father,  who  was  nervous  and  talked 
at  random,  towards  the  headmaster's  house,  and  as  they 
entered  that  dreadful  presence  he  felt  an  extraordinary  desire 
to  be  lying  dead,  on  the  moor,  amongst  the  pools  of  water  in 
the  old  quarry, — anywhere  away  from  the  big,  book-lined 
room  that  was  the  antechamber  and  dread  threshold  of  the 
new  life.  Yet  he  was  able  to  notice  an  amazing  collection  of 
walking-sticks  in  the  hall,  and  to  look  at  them  with  something 
of  the  surprise  that  we  feel  when  a dentist  talks  to  us  of  his 
children,  or  admits  that  he  has  had  toothache.  The  head- 
master, a spare  clean-shaven  man  of  forty,  with  the  dark 
imperious  face  and  lean  jaw  of  a Roman  tribune,  did  not 
prove  very  terrifying.  He  was  horribly  harassed  by  parents, 
gave  Dr.  Yorke  three  minutes,  and  hardly  glanced  at  Denis. 
The  housemaster  seemed  more  formidable, — a thick-set 
personage  with  a heavy  moustache  and  eyes  that  reminded 
Denis  of  pickled  walnuts.  He  sat  in  a room  that  was  decor- 
ated with  a great  number  of  stuffed  birds — wild  geese  and 
penguins  and  great  northern  divers  and  cormorants — and 
talked  to  Dr.  Yorke  in  a high-pitched  voice.  His  name 
was  Lister,  and  he  seemed  to  Denis  more  fantastic  than 
any  one  he  had  ever  heard  of.  He  had  a queer  habit  of 
wagging  his  head  suddenly  as  if  he  were  tormented  by 
invisible  flies. 

4 Delicate  ! delicate ! 9 he  said,  looking  at  Denis  as  if  he 
were  a specimen  of  the  Great  Auk  ; 4 look  here,  my  person, 
that 's  all  very  fine,  but  it  won't  do  in  my  house.  Boys  who 
sneeze  in  dormitory  get  the  cane.  Boys  who  snuffle  in  form 
go  down  ten  places  and  write  out  the  lesson.  Understand 
that,  my  person.'  He  fixed  Denis  with  the  pickled  walnuts, 
and  called  him  ‘ my  person  ' twenty  times  in  the  course  of 
the  interview.  Dr.  Yorke  could  not  make  him  out  at  all,  but 
Denis  was  not  sure  that  he  wasn't  really  kind.  The  anxious 
parent  expressed  a hope  that  Mr.  Lister  would  look  after  his 
boy  with  especial  care,  and  Mr.  Lister  barked  like  a dog. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


29 


* I look  after  them  all  with  especial  care/  he  said,  1 the 
young  scoundrels  ! A lot  of  thanks  I get  for  it  from  them  ! 
I Ve  been  a master  for  twenty  years,  and  I assure  you  that 
boys  are  black  beasts,  destitute  of  any  spark  of  honour  and 
decency  and  gratitude.  Oh  ! your  boy  11  be  just  the  same, 
just  the  same.  It 's  in  the  system.  Bow-wow  ! 1 

He  wagged  his  bald  head  and  almost  chased  them  from 
the  room.  As  they  walked  across  the  quadrangle  Dr.  Yorke 
wore  an  expression  of  astonishment  blended  with  mistrust. 
He  always  felt  secretly  offended  when  he  encountered  an 
original  personality,  and  he  had  scarcely  expected  such  an 
event  to  happen  on  that  particular  day. 

Fortunately  for  Denis,  his  father  would  never  run  any  risk 
of  missing  a train,  so  the  final  scene  between  them  was  brief. 
An  exhortation  in  which  his  soul  and  his  underclothing  were 
curiously  mingled,  a strongly  affectionate  hand-clasp,  a 
waving  umbrella — and  then  Denis  found  himself  walking 
slowly  back  to  the  lodge  with  a horrible  sensation  in  the  pit 
of  his  stomach.  He  drifted  across  the  quadrangle,  feeling 
absolutely  alone  in  the  world,  but  not  at  all  inclined  to 
mingle  with  the  little  throng  of  new  boys  who  were  awaiting 
the  hour  of  the  entrance  examination.  Beyond  the  chapel 
he  found  a passage  which  led  past  the  open  doors  of  a huge 
dining-hall  to  the  terrace,  where  he  sat  down  on  a low  wall 
on  the  edge  of  the  playing-field.  The  September  sunshine 
brought  a little  comfort  to  his  soul,  and  some  birds  in  the 
high  elms  were  singing  in  much  the  same  way  as  the  birds 
in  the  garden  at  home.  In  a small  enclosure  in  front  of  the 
headmaster's  house  some  late  roses  were  blooming.  Pre- 
sently three  boys  came  on  to  the  ground  and  began  to  kick 
a football  about  in  a desultory  manner.  They  had  returned 
to  school  a day  before  the  term  began  in  order  to  look  after 
small  brothers  who  were  new  to  the  place. 

Denis  had  watched  them  for  nearly  half  an  hour  when  he 
heard  a sound  of  steps  on  the  gravel  behind  him,  and,  looking 
round,  saw  a boy  of  about  his  own  age  who  was  dressed  with 
extreme  neatness,  and  had  a long  nose  and  rather  supercilious, 
light  blue  eyes.  About  twenty  yards  behind  him  was  a very 


30 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


different  kind  of  person, — a knock-kneed,  bony  creature  in 
clothes  that  were  a size  too  small,  with  a fat  face  and  a lower 
jaw  that  fell  away  deplorably.  He  was  shambling  quickly 
along  the  terrace,  and  obviously  intended  to  overtake  the 
supercilious  boy. 

The  latter  gentleman  sat  down  by  Denis  and  looked  at  him 
critically.  4 You  're  new,  aren't  you  ? ' he  said  easily.  4 So 
am  I.  What 's  your  name  ? ' When  Denis  had  answered 
this  question,  he  said,  4 Mine 's  Ellerton-Davidson.  I was 
captain  of  Teazle's.'  This  was  a private  school  notorious 
for  athletics  and  aristocracy.  Denis  had  never  heard  of  it. 
At  this  moment  the  bony  monster  came  up  to  them,  and  stood 
leering  at  the  late  captain  of  Teazle's.  He  had  a dreadful 
smile  which  displayed  all  his  teeth  and  most  of  his  gums, 
but  in  spite  of  it  Denis  thought  that  he  seemed  extremely 
good-natured. 

4 Hullo,  Reggie,'  he  said.  Master  Ellerton-Davidson  looked 
up  at  him  with  an  air  of  extreme  surprise. 

4 Hullo,  Toad,'  he  replied.  4 Didn't  know  you  were  coming 
here.  You  might  have  got  a new  suit.'  He  said  this  with 
distinct  asperity,  but  the  monster  only  chuckled.  There  was 
silence  for  a moment,  and  then  Master  Ellerton-Davidson 
turned  to  look  at  the  football  and  began  to  whistle.  The 
monster  stood  near  him,  grinning  painfully,  and  shifting  from 
one  foot  to  the  other. 

4 I say,'  he  said  at  length,  4 what  house  are  you  in,  Reggie  ? ' 

The  supercilious  youth  ceased  whistling  for  a moment. 
4 You  'll  soon  be  able  to  find  out,'  he  said  without  looking 
round,  and  recommenced  his  tune.  The  monster's  grin 
became  ghastly. 

4 All  right,  you  needn't  be  so  sidey,'  he  protested. 

Master  Ellerton-Davidson  swung  round  suddenly. 

4 Good-bye,  Toad,'  he  said  : 4 this  man  and  I want  to  talk. 
I know  him  at  home.  Good- bye.' 

The  Toad  still  lingered. 

4 S'pose  that  was  why  you  asked  him  his  name  ? ' he  said. 

Master  Ellerton-Davidson  glared  at  him  with  cold  male- 
volence. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


3i 


* Look  here,  are  you  going  ? ’ he  demanded.  ' Face  the 
other  way  and  continue  the  motion.  Good-bye  ; sorry  you 
can't  stay  • bring  your  music  next  time.  You  aren’t  wanted 
here.  You  stink.’ 

Denis  listened  to  this  tirade  with  much  amazement,  and 
fully  expected  to  see  the  ground  strewn  with  fragments  of 
the  supercilious  youth.  To  his  great  surprise,  however,  the 
poor  monster  wilted  visibly.  He  made  a piteous  attempt 
to  grin,  and  glanced  timidly  at  Denis. 

‘ Or  right,  or  right,’  he  muttered  thickly,  and  shambled 
away  disconsolately. 

‘ Why  did  you  send  him  away  ? ’ asked  Denis.  ‘ He 
seemed  all  right.’ 

Master  Ellerton-Davidson  elevated  his  slender  nose. 

‘He 's  a mouldy  beast,’  he  said.  ‘ He  was  at  Teazle’s. 
We  all  barred  him  like  anything.  I ’m  jolly  sick  that  he ’s 
come  here,  but  he  won’t  get  me  to  go  about  with  him.  He 
wants  kicking  every  day  of  his  life,  and  I expect  he  ’ll  get  it.’ 

‘ Why,  what ’s  the  matter  with  him  ? ’ asked  Denis. 

‘ He ’s  mad,’  said  Ellerton-Davidson  venomously. 

‘ Well,  he  can’t  help  that,’  said  Denis. 

4 He ’s  a great  hulking  swine,’  continued  the  other,  ' and 
he ’s  no  earthly  good  at  games,  and  a filthy  rotter.  He  eats 
the  tails  of  sardines.  I hate  his  shiny  grinning  face.  I 
used  to  kick  him  at  Teazle’s,  and  now  I suppose  that  he  thinks 
I ’m  his  equal.  I ’ll  soon  let  him  know  all  about  that.’ 

It  seemed  to  Denis  that  either  Master  Ellerton-Davidson 
was  extraordinarily  brave,  or  the  monster  remarkably  good- 
tempered,  for  one  blow  from  the  bony  fist  of  the  latter  would 
have  spoilt  that  supercilious  nose  for  ever.  Yet  the  Toad 
had  seemed  thoroughly  cowed  ! 

* What ’s  his  real  name  ? ’ he  asked. 

‘ His  name ’s  Madden,’  said  Ellerton-Davidson,  ‘ and  I 
wish  he  was  dead.  What  school  do  you  come  from  ? ’ 

His  manner  changed  when  he  heard  that  Denis  had  never 
been  to  school  and  never  played  cricket  and  football.  He 
became  Olympian  in  his  condescension. 

‘ You  ’ll  be  sorry  for  that  now  you  ’re  here,’  he  said.  4 1 


32 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


shall  get  my  house  badge  this  term,  I expect.  It 's  no  end 
of  a score  to  come  with  a reputation/ 

Denis  agreed  meekly.  The  self-confidence  of  this  new 
acquaintance  filled  him  with  wonder.  He  could  think  of  no 
appropriate  remark,  and  sat  staring  across  the  field.  Pre- 
sently he  realised  that  the  three  boys  had  ceased  to  kick  the 
football  and  were  coming  towards  them.  Their  approach 
brought  a note  of  awe  into  Ellerton-Davidson's  voice. 

‘ That  big  man 's  in  the  Fifteen/  he  said  : 4 do  you  see  the 
silver  wings  on  his  cap  ? My  brother  was  in  the  Fifteen 
when  he  was  here.  If  they  speak  to  us,  you  see  if  they  don't 
know  his  name/ 

Denis  hoped  devoutly  that  the  three  heroes  would  not  speak 
to  them,  but  in  vain  ; the  boys  came  directly  towards  the 
place  where  they  sat.  When  they  were  near  Denis  recognised 
one  of  them.  It  was  Bob  Challoner,  Dr.  Yorke's  ideal  of 
boyhood. 

‘ Two  new  governors,'  he  heard  one  of  them  say,  and 
marvelled  at  the  unfamiliar  term  ; ‘ let 's  go  and  look  at  them/ 
They  sauntered  up  to  the  small  boys,  and  one  of  them,  a 
sturdy,  red-haired  creature  with  weasel  eyes,  asked  the 
supercilious  youth  his  name. 

‘ Ellerton-Davidson,'  replied  that  personage,  not  without 
pride.  The  red-haired  boy  regarded  him  fixedly  for  some 
moments. 

* Hell,  my  little  friend,’  he  said  at  length,  with  great 
unction,  ‘ hell  is  full  of  Ellerton-Davidsons.  And  yours  ? ' 
he  added,  turning  abruptly  to  Denis.  But  he  made  no  com- 
ment on  the  answer,  possibly  because  his  supply  of  humour 
was  exhausted.  Bob  Challoner  said  something  to  the  tall 
boy  with  the  silver  badge  on  his  cap  which  sounded  like 
‘ know  him  at  home,  bit  of  a smug,'  but  he  took  no  further 
notice  of  Denis.  Meanwhile  the  red-haired  creature  re- 
directed his  attention  to  Ellerton-Davidson. 

* Can  you  play  the  rough  yet  noble  game  that  is  known  as 
footer,  my  little  man  ? ' he  asked. 

1 Just  a bit,'  said  Ellerton-Davidson.  * I was  captain 
of  Teazle’s  for  two  years/ 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


33 


The  tall  boy  looked  interested,  but  the  red-haired  person 
only  said  curtly,  1 Well,  you  won't  be  captain  here.'  Then  he 
lurched  violently  into  the  tall  boy,  who  thumped  him  fiercely 
on  the  back  so  that  he  dropped  the  ball  which  he  carried. 
All  three  made  a rush  for  the  ball,  and  the  tall  boy  sent  it 
soaring  magnificently  amongst  the  elms.  The  trio  linked 
arms  and  walked  slowly  towards  it.  Ellerton-Davidson 
watched  them  depart  with  an  air  of  fine  indifference,  but  it 
seemed  to  Denis  that  his  nose  had  suddenly  become  less 
supercilious. 

‘ That  man  kicks  quite  decently,'  he  said.  ‘ I wish  I 'd 
asked  them  to  leave  us  the  pill  to  hoof  about.  But  then,  of 
course,  you  don't  know  how  to.  Let 's  go  and  have  a look 
at  the  bath.' 

They  walked  together  to  the  swimming  bath,  which  was 
green  and  stagnant  after  two  months'  disuse.  Then  the 
great  bell  at  the  lodge  clanged  warning  of  the  hour  of  the 
entrance  examination,  and  they  ran  back  to  the  quadrangle, 
where  they  found  other  new  boys  trooping  into  the  Big  School. 
A master  in  cap  and  gown  began  to  read  a list  of  names  as 
soon  as  the  clock  struck  the  hour,  and  variously  pitched 
squeaks  of  ‘ Here,  sir,'  rose  around  Denis.  One  boy,  he 
noticed,  who  had  carefully  plastered  hair,  a brown  suit,  and 
a signet -ring  on  his  little  finger,  contented  himself  with 
shouting  ‘ Here.'  His  own  name  came  last  on  the  list,  and 
the  unfamiliar  sound  of  the  monosyllable  so  startled  him  that 
the  master  had  repeated  it  and  glared  down  the  room  before 
he  answered. 

A paper  of  printed  questions  was  set  before  each  boy 
Ellerton-Davidson  crinkled  his  nose  at  it,  finished  each 
question  with  a sigh  of  relief,  and  looked  thoroughly  injured 
as  he  read  the  next  one  ; but  Denis  found  it  fairly  easy,  and 
had  done  all  that  he  could  some  time  before  the  end  of  the 
allotted  hour.  As  he  wrote,  however,  it  seemed  to  him  that 
a kind  of  second  self  was  thinking  out  the  answers,  whilst 
his  real  self  remained  aloof,  acutely  sensitive  to  every  sound 
and  sight  of  this  staggering  new  existence,  yet  all  the  while 
gasping  for  breath  in  such  unfamiliar  air. 


c 


34 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


He  glanced  at  the  other  new  boys.  They  seemed  to  be  no 
more  affected  by  the  change  that  was  being  worked  in  their 
lives  than  were  cows  that  had  been  driven  from  one  meadow 
to  another.  A small  red-faced  boy  near  him  was  obviously 
eating  sweets  which  were,  as  obviously,  peppermints  ; an- 
other was  reading  the  lists  of  names  that  were  painted  on 
boards  above  the  entrance  to  Big  School ; a third  was  going 
to  sleep.  How  contented  they  seemed  ! It  was  impossible 
that  any  of  them  had  a little  voice  inside  him  that  kept  on 
saying  something  like,  ‘ This  time  yesterday — this  time  yester- 
day— I was  on  the  moor — free,  free,  free ! ’ Their  tranquil 
faces  wore  no  hint  of  a heavy  pain  that  grew  and  grew  as  they 
looked  at  the  grim  walls  and  ugly  rows  of  ink-stained  desks. 
They  had  never  heard  voices  in  the  wind,  and  they  had 
never  been  wonderfully  alive,  like  the  Italian  and  the  owner 
of  the  pigtail.  His  thoughts  went  veering  off  to  the  previous 
day,  and  then  came  back  to  reality  with  a sickening  thump. 
Yet  it  was  hardly  reality  ; it  still  seemed  a sinister  kind  of 
dream.  Even  now,  he  felt,  it  might  be  just  possible  to  wake 
up  in  the  Red  House. 

The  big  clock  near  the  door  ticked  on  with  a dry  indifference 
to  all  that  was  youthful  and  eager  and  irregular  ; the  long 
shafts  of  sunlight  that  slanted  through  the  open  doorway 
became  gradually  thinner.  It  was  half-past  five  ; there  was 
still  half  an  hour  before  the  time  fixed  for  handing  in  papers, 
and  Denis  put  down  his  pen  and  leant  back  against  the  desk. 
As  he  did  so  he  became  aware  that  some  one  was  staring 
steadily  at  him,  and  next  moment  his  eyes  met  those  of  a 
rather  tall,  thin  boy  with  a pale,  plain  face  and  a remarkably 
high  forehead.  This  person  was  sitting  in  the  front  row  of 
the  desks  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  gangway.  He  was 
engaged,  apparently,  in  the  pleasing  task  of  devouring  a 
wooden  penholder,  and  Denis  observed  that  he,  at  any  rate, 
did  not  share  the  tranquillity  of  the  others ; his  eyes  were 
mutinous,  and  his  mouth  was  set  in  a thin  line  ; yet  there 
was  something  attractive  in  his  ugly,  irregular  features ; he 
seemed  strangely  out  of  place  in  his  present  surroundings, 
and  made  the  boys  sitting  near  him  look  even  younger  and 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


35 


more  stolid  than  before.  Denis  decided  that  he  looked  wise 
with  the  wisdom  of  age,  and  wondered  what  kind  of  things 
he  had  written  on  his  paper,  and  what  would  happen  if  he 
turned  out  to  be  a man  who  had  disguised  himself  as  a boy, 
because  he  wanted  to  come  to  a public  school  to  learn 
grammar  and  play  games.  Not  that  Denis  could  imagine 
any  sensible  man  doing  such  a thing  even  by  way  of  an 
adventure,  yet  the  long  sinewy  neck  of  the  unknown  looked 
absolutely  preposterous  in  its  low  collar,  and  an  incipient 
moustache  contributed  still  further  to  his  venerable  aspect. 

The  master,  who  had  a pink  face  and  black-rimmed  spec- 
tacles, came  slowly  down  the  gangway  with  his  hands  clasped 
behind  him,  and  stared  from  boy  to  boy  with  mild  interest. 
Certainly  he  didn’t  look  nearly  as  wise  as  the  unknown  with 
the  absurd  neck.  Presently  his  eyes  fell  on  Denis  and  his 
idle  pen.  He  sauntered  up  to  him. 

‘ What  is  your  name,  pweese  ? ’ he  demanded.  He  had 
a peculiar  lisp,  and  his  eyes  dilated  and  contracted  oddly 
behind  his  strong  glasses. 

‘ Denis  Yorke/  answered  Denis. 

‘ The  surname  is  sufficient,  Yorke/  said  the  master,  and 
some  one  giggled.  He  glared  about  him  nervously,  and  then 
asked  Denis  if  he  had  finished  his  paper.  Denis  answered 
that  he  had  done  all  he  could. 

‘ Then  you  may  go,  Yorke/  said  the  master,  and  proceeded 
on  his  majestic  way.  All  the  boys  instantly  began  to  write 
with  tremendous  energy.  They  had  not  realised  that  liberty 
was  so  near.  Denis  gave  up  his  paper  and  went  out  into  the 
quadrangle,  rather  reluctantly,  for  the  face  opposite  had 
begun  to  interest  him. 

A group  of  boys  in  variously  striped  caps  reclined  on 
the  grass  not  far  from  the  door,  this  being  their  method  of 
asserting  the  fact  that  the  official  school  term  had  not  yet 
begun.  When  Denis  came  down  the  path  near  them  they 
all  turned  to  stare  at  him,  and  one  of  them  called  out,  ‘ I 
say,  do  come  and  talk  to  us  ! * Denis  felt  that  he  could  have 
denied  himself  the  privilege  of  their  conversation  with 
equanimity,  but  they  were  sitting  close  to  the  path,  and  he 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


36 

was  obliged  to  halt  in  front  of  them.  He  satisfied  their 
curiosity  as  to  his  name,  and  was  about  to  turn  away  towards 
the  lodge,  when  one  of  them,  a huge,  burly,  fat-faced  boy 
like  an  overgrown  cherub,  asked  him,  ‘ Whose  house  are  you 
going  in  ? 9 

‘ Mr.  Lister’s/  Denis  answered. 

‘ I am  very  glad  to  hear  it,’  said  the  burly  person,  with 
profound  feeling,  * for  I am  a humble  member  of  the  Christian 
brotherhood  of  Lister’s.  I trust,  Yorke,  that  you  will  be 
worthy  of  the  privilege.  Other  houses  care  for  football, 
and  cricket — I think  that  is  the  name  of  the  sport — but  we 
go  in,  my  dear  young  friend,  for  the  beauty  of  holiness. 
Dalrymple’s  or  Seaton’s  may  be  Cock  House  ; we  are  content 
to  be  good.’ 

The  other  boys  laughed  immoderately  at  this,  watching 
Denis  narrowly  all  the  time  ; but  the  speaker  preserved  his 
gravity. 

‘ Do  you  sing,  Yorke  ? ’ he  said. 

Denis  replied  that  he  did,  a little,  and  the  burly  person 
nodded  approval. 

‘ We  love  the  voice  of  praise,’  he  said,  * in  Lister’s  ; of 
course  we  bar  all  profane  songs.  But  that  will  not  matter 
to  you,  Yorke,  for  you  already  have  the  appearance  and 
loveliness  of  a dear  little  angel.’ 

The  chorus  laughed  again,  and  one  of  its  members,  a small 
manikin  with  a very  tall  collar,  kicked  the  burly  youth. 
' Dry  up,  Toby,’  he  said  ; ‘ don’t  corrupt  the  young  and 
innocent.’ 

‘ Corrupt ! ’ cried  the  burly  youth,  as  if  his  heart  were 
rent  in  twain.  * Corrupt ! Ah,  Sarah,  Sarah,  how  little 
you  know  me  ! ’ 

At  this  moment  a diversion  was  created  by  the  appearance 
of  another  figure  in  the  doorway  of  Big  School,  and  Denis, 
turning,  recognised  the  lanky  boy  whose  face  had  interested 
him.  He  looked  older,  wiser,  and  more  ridiculously  lanky 
than  ever.  Evidently  he  interested  the  group  of  boys  also  : 
they  sat  up  and  stared  at  him  as  if  he  were  a portent  in  the 
sun.  ‘ Can’t  be  a new  governor  ; must  be  a new  governor’s 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


37 


governor. 1 ‘ What  is  it  ? Who  let  it  loose  ? ' 4 Go  and 

chain  it  up,  Toby,  it 's  one  of  your  extra  specials/  ‘ Oh, 
I say,  what  a horrid  man  ! ' The  person  who  was  the  object 
of  all  this  criticism  strode  down  the  path  towards  the  group. 
He  did  not  look  at  them,  and  merely  glanced  at  Denis.  When 
he  was  nearly  past  them,  however,  the  boy  who  had  been 
called  Toby  addressed  him  in  melting  accents. 

4 Don't  cut  us  all  like  that,'  he  pleaded  ; ‘ we  want  to  get 
to  know  you.  Come  and  ask  me  my  name.  Don't  think 
that  we  are  sidey  because  we  sit  on  the  grass.  It 's  because 
we  're  poor  in  spirit,  and  meek.  For  of  such  is  the  kingdom 
of  heaven.' 

The  new  boy  did  not  appear  to  be  flattered  by  this  invita- 
tion, but  he  halted  and  stood  looking  at  them  with  strangely 
sombre  eyes. 

‘ My  name 's  Lenwood,'  he  said  briefly. 

* And  what  name  could  be  nicer  ? ' asked  the  burly  youth, 
turning  confidentially  to  his  friends.  ‘ I have  heard  of  you 
already,  Lenwood,'  he  continued ; ‘ but  why,  having  won  a 
classical  scholarship  at  this  famous  school,  do  you  condescend 
to  sit  amongst  the  base  herd  at  an  ordinary,  vulgar  entrance 
exam.  ? Explain  me  this,  Lenwood,  explain  me  this.' 

‘ To  see  what  French  and  mathematics  I know,*'  said 
Lenwood. 

‘ And  how  old  are  you,  Lenwood  ? ' asked  his  ques- 
tioner. 

Lenwood  looked  as  if  he  ' ere  not  going  to  reply,  but  he 
changed  his  mind  and  said  ‘ Sixteen.’  The  manikin  in  the 
collar  stared  at  him. 

4 And  what  the  devil  do  you  mean,  sir,  by  coming  to  school 
as  late  as  that  ? ' he  asked,  with  a malevolent  glare. 

Lenwood  met  his  eye. 

‘ That  is  just  what  I 'm  wondering,'  he  said,  ‘ as  it  seems 
to  give  little  fools  like  you  the  chance  to  cheek  me.' 

This  calm  retort  gave  huge  delight  to  every  one  in  the  group 
except  the  manikin,  although  each  felt  it  secretly  to  be 
anarchical.  The  manikin  was  furious. 

* Sir,'  he  almost  shrieked,  * you  're  insolent ! you  're  only 


38 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


a new  governor.  You  mustn’t  say  things  like  that.  I ’ve 
been  here  two  years.’ 

1 I dare  say  you  have/  said  the  new  boy  ; ‘ and  I ’ve 
passed  into  the  Lower  Fifth.  In  about  a year  I ’ll  be  in  the 
Sixth,  and  then  you  shall  fag  for  me.’ 

The  faces  of  the  manikin’s  friends  were  torn  between  utter 
consternation  and  deep  amusement.  The  burly  youth  rolled 
on  the  grass  and  moaned  with  delight. 

‘ O Lenwood,  Lenwood ! ’ he  said  at  length,  sitting  up. 

* Let  me  embrace  you  : you  are  perfect.  I only  wish  that  I 
were  a permanent  ornament  of  the  Lower  School,  like  Sarah, 
so  that  I might  fag  for  you  too.  But  that  would  make  Sarah 
jealous.  I only  want  to  tell  you  one  thing,  Lenwood — if 
you  don’t  mind — don’t  alter  the  house  too  suddenly  ; leave 
us  our  little  joys,  and  don’t  interfere  with  our  religions. 
Of  course  very  soon  you  ’ll  be  running  the  school,  and  then 
the  house  won’t  matter.  Do  promise  to  be  kind  to  us, 
Lenwood.’ 

The  pathos  in  his  voice  made  his  friends  quake  in  helpless 
paroxysms  of  mirth,  and  Denis  smiled.  The  burly  youth 
looked  at  Denis  and  then  turned  to  Lenwood. 

‘ I am  afraid  that  your  little  friend  is  laughing  at  you, 
Lenwood,’  he  said  gravely. 

Lenwood  glanced  for  a moment  at  Denis. 

‘ He ’s  not  my  friend,’  he  said  brusquely,  and  then  he  began 
to  walk  with  deliberate  steps  towards  the  lodge.  The  group 
hurled  pleasantries  after  him,  but  he  took  absolutely  no 
notice  of  them.  Denis  took  advantage  of  this  fusillade  to 
move  away. 

So  the  gaunt  new  boy  was  not  less  interesting  than  he  had 
seemed  when  he  devoured  a penholder  and  stared  about 
Big  School  with  those  great,  discontented  eyes.  Denis  was 
aghast  at  his  courage  in  making  a retort  to  the  mockery  of 
the  group  on  the  grass,  though  he  felt  with  a certain  fore- 
boding that  the  end  of  the  episode  was  not  yet.  He  felt  also 
an  absurd  irritation  at  the  rather  contemptuous  glance  that 
Lenwood  had  bestowed  on  him,  and  the  clear,  cutting  words 
that  had  denied  their  acquaintance.  Every  one  and  every- 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


39 


thing  seemed  to  emphasise  his  loneliness  : this  self-confident 
stranger  despised  him  because  he  stood  in  awkward  silence  * 
the  gay  laughter  of  the  others  and  their  irresponsible,  idiotic 
chatter  seemed  like  voices  from  a world  in  which  he  had  been 
forced  to  live,  where  a language  was  current  that  he  would 
never  be  able  to  acquire,  and  the  solid,  stolid  creatures  who 
wrote  papers  around  him  in  Big  School  were  calm  with  some 
wisdom  that  was  denied  him. 

He  passed  the  lodge  doors,  and  went  down  one  of  the  two 
avenues  of  horse-chestnut  which  led  to  the  main  road.  He 
had  not  gone  far  before  he  saw  a long  figure  walking  slowly 
in  the  same  direction,  and  realised  that  it  was  Lenwood. 
He  halted,  doubtful  whether  to  overtake  him  and  incur  the 
risk  of  another  contemptuous  glance,  or  to  avoid  him 
altogether  by  crossing  the  grass  to  the  other  avenue.  Eventu- 
ally he  took  the  former  course,  and  followed  Lenwood. 
Lenwood  walked  very  slowly ; his  head  was  bent  down,  his 
shoulders  were  hunched  up,  and  as  Denis  came  near  he 
realised  that  the  boy  was  deeply  engrossed  in  a book.  Denis 
felt  that  he  should  never  dare  to  speak  first,  and  plodded  past 
him  with  a great  air  of  indifference.  Lenwood  looked  up 
vaguely,  recognised  him,  stared  for  a moment,  and  then  said, 
‘ Hullo  ! ’ 

Denis  halted  abruptly,  and  echoed  the  word  as  if  it  were 
one  to  which  he  was  quite  unaccustomed.  Lenwood  closed 
his  book. 

‘ You  got  away  from  those  asses,  then  ? ’ he  said,  without 
smiling.  ‘ Whose  house  are  you  going  into  ? ’ 

‘ Lister’s,'  said  Denis.  He  had  already  discovered  that  a 
polite  prefix  to  the  master’s  name  was  not  essential. 

‘ So  am  I,’  said  the  lanky  boy.  In  books  about  school  life 
that  Denis  had  read,  and  grown  weary  of  reading,  such  a 
statement  was  invariably  followed  by  some  such  remark 
as  ‘ How  ripping,  let ’s  be  chums.’  Lenwood,  however, 
looked  extremely  unlike  saying  anything  of  the  kind.  He 
tucked  his  book  firmly  into  his  right  armpit,  thrust  his  hands 
deeply  into  his  trouser-pockets,  and  remarked  : 

‘ Well,  I hope  you  ’ll  like  it.  I shan’t.’ 


40 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


' Oh,  won't  you  ? ’ cried  Denis  with  extreme  interest. 

Lenwood  looked  hard  at  him  as  if  he  were  trying  to  under- 
stand what  that  particular  intonation  implied.  Then  he 
smiled  in  a way  that  reminded  Denis  of  Mr.  Gabriel  Searle, 
and  said  : 'You  ’ve  seen  some  of  them  already.  They  seem 
bright  specimens.  Very  soon  I shall  have  to  smack  the  head 
of  that  little  beast  they  call  Sarah/ 

' You  answered  them  back  pretty  well/  said  Denis. 

Lenwood  made  no  response  to  this  tribute.  Instead,  he 
stared  hard  at  Denis  with  his  queer  eyes,  and  asked  him  an 
amazing  question. 

' Are  you  a worm  ? * he  said. 

Denis  was  completely  bewildered.  After  waiting  for  a 
moment  Lenwood  went  on : 'As  you  don't  know  what  it  is, 
you  probably  are.  Do  you  like  reading  books,  and  going 
for  long  walks  and  catching  bugs  and  collecting  ferns  better 
than  cricket  and  football  and  gymnasium  ? Because  if  you 
do  you  ’re  a worm,  and  worms  never  do  any  good  in  a place 
like  this.  Reading ’s  worst  of  all ; I read/  He  tapped  the 
book  under  his  arm.  ' You  see  if  they  don’t  all  think  me  a 
worm,’  he  said,  with  a kind  of  pride.  ' I read  poetry  by  the 
acre.  I mean  to  write  it  when  I ’ve  read  enough  to  really 
know  how  it ’s  done.’ 

' I do  like  reading,’  said  Denis,  ' and  I ’ve  never  played 
cricket  and  football.  I like  music  best  of  all,  though.’ 

' Music  ? ’ said  Lenwood.  ' Oh,  you  ’re  a worm,  all 
right.’  He  produced  his  book.  ' I want  to  finish  this  thing 
before  the  bell  goes  for  tea,’  he  said,  and  strolled  away, 
leaving  Denis  alone  in  the  middle  of  the  avenue. 

Denis  emerged  from  this  brief  conversation  in  a condition 
of  blank  bewilderment.  Lenwood  was  far  more  amazing 
than  Ellerton-Davidson  ; for  though  he  had  all  the  super- 
cilious youth’s  self-esteem,  he  seemed  to  know  that  he  would 
be  judged  and  condemned  by  his  fellows  from  some  extra- 
ordinary standpoint,  and  to  rejoice  in  the  knowledge.  Denis 
wandered  back  to  the  lodge  with  a sense  that  this  day  of 
surprising  and  fantastic  conversation  ought  to  end  at  once  ; 
that  he  could  not  bear  to  wait  so  many  more  hours  for  the 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


4i 


silence  and  peace  of  the  night.  He  was  absolutely  tired  out ; 
immense  and  aching  vistas  of  life  seemed  to  he  between  the 
present  hour  and  the  cool  morning  when  he  had  left  the  Red 
House,  and  his  heart  grew  heavier  and  heavier. 

The  bell  for  tea  sounded  at  last,  and  he  went  amid  a 
chattering  crowd  of  new  boys  into  the  great  hall.  Lenwood 
sat  beside  him,  but  read  his  book — a Tennyson — the  whole 
time,  to  the  huge  disgust  of  Ellerton-Davidson  and  other 
conventional  persons.  The  Toad  sat  on  his  other  side,  and 
talked  about  the  entrance  examination  with  his  mouth  full 
of  bread  and  butter.  The  food  seemed  coarse  and  tasteless, 
but  had  it  consisted  of  manna  and  dates  in  argosy  transferred 
from  Fez,  or  any  other  confectioner's  Paradise,  its  glories 
would  have  been  completely  wasted  on  Denis. 

The  Toad  continued  to  mumble  his  theories  on  grammar. 
Ellerton-Davidson  held  forth  on  his  own  cricket-average. 
And  this  was  the  hour  when  the  sun  was  setting  over  the 
divine  duskiness  of  the  moorland  ! 


42 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


V 

TIRED  though  he  was,  for  the  first  part  of  the  night 
his  sleep  was  a painful  masquerade  in  which  Lenwood, 
the  immense  man,  the  Italian  and  the  monkey — now  grown 
to  human  size — danced  and  drifted  across  a quadrangle  as 
large  as  the  world,  and  glared  at  him  with  eyes  that  were 
like  pickled  walnuts.  Towards  morning  he  fell  into  the  deep, 
unhaunted  slumber  of  utter  weariness,  and  did  not  wake 
until  the  dormitory  servant  had  violently  rattled  the  rings 
of  his  cubicle  curtain.  He  sat  up  in  bed,  dismally  conscious 
of  the  strangeness  of  his  surroundings.  A bell  was  ringing, 
and  in  the  dormitory  there  was  a sound  of  splashing  water 
and  rather  sleepy  voices.  He  put  on  his  trousers  and  slippers 
and  went  to  the  basins  that  stood  in  a row  down  the  long 
dingy  room.  A grey  light  filtered  in  through  the  windows, 
and  the  atmosphere  was  stuffy  and  nauseating. 

Outside  his  cubicle — which  was  called  a compartment — 
he  found  Ellerton-Davidson  stripped  to  the  waist  and 
washing  his  aristocratic  features  with  purple  soap.  Near 
him  the  Toad,  who  had  neglected  to  supply  himself  with  the 
minor  luxuries  of  the  toilet,  was  expostulating  to  deaf  ears. 

‘ I must  wash,  you  know/  he  said. 

‘ Then  you  can  scrub  yourself  all  over  with  your  nailbrush/ 
said  Ellerton-Davidson,  ‘ for  I 'm  not  going  to  lend  you 
my  soap.  Go  and  ask  the  matron  to  give  you  a piece  of 
yellow  cheese/  He  turned  his  back  on  the  Toad  and  began 
to  dry  himself. 

The  Toad  smiled  a craftily  stupid  smile,  put  out  a long 
arm,  snatched  the  purple  soap,  and  crowed  triumphantly. 
Ellerton-Davidson  turned,  realised  what  had  happened,  and 
without  a moment's  hesitation  walked  up  to  the  Toad  and 
smacked  him  as  hard  as  he  could  on  the  bare  back  with  his 
flat  hand.  The  sound  of  the  blow  and  the  Toad's  yell  of 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


43 


anguish  echoed  simultaneously  down  the  dormitory.  The 
poor  monster  dropped  the  soap  and  stood  there  feebly  ; his 
face  was  as  scarlet  as  the  neat  five-fingered  impression  on  his 
flesh,  and  his  thick  lips  were  trembling. 

* P'raps  that  'll  teach  you  to  touch  my  things,'  said 
Ellerton-Davidson,  and  some  of  the  boys  laughed.  Denis 
felt  sick  at  heart,  and  loathed  Ellerton-Davidson. 

* Would  you  like  another  ? ' asked  that  gentleman,  who 
was  obviously  flattered  by  the  laughter  of  the  spectators. 
But  just  then  a hand  took  hold  of  each  of  his  ears  and  he  was 
propelled  rapidly  down  the  dormitory  for  some  yards.  Len- 
wood,  after  watching  the  scene  vaguely,  had  suddenly  become 
active. 

‘ Here 's  some  soap,'  he  said  curtly  to  the  Toad.  ‘ As  soon 
as  you  're  dry  I advise  you  to  kick  that  little  fool  till  he 's 
the  colour  of  your  back.' 

The  Toad  grinned.  * Thanks  awfully,'  he  said,  ‘ but  I 
don’t  mind  him.  Only  his  way.  We  were  at  a private 
school  together,  you  know.  Known  him  for  ages.’  He  began 
to  wash  himself  vigorously,  a ridiculous  figure,  with  his  bent 
knees  and  trailing  braces.  He  reminded  Denis  of  a poor 
creature  who  had  lived  in  the  village  at  home;  a gentle, 
witless  thing  who  was  much  harassed  by  the  school-children, 
whose  mockery  he  was  supposed  by  the  villagers  to  enjoy. 
The  poor  Toad  ! Had  he,  too,  been  sent  to  school  in  order 
to  learn  manliness,  and  was  this  the  way  to  teach  him  ? 

Yet,  when  they  went  together  for  a walk  on  the  heath, 
Denis  found  the  Toad  wellnigh  intolerable.  He,  too,  had 
read  romances  which  depicted  public  schools  as  athletic 
paradises  full  of  strong,  silent  boys  whose  immense  virtues 
only  became  obvious,  quite  accidentally,  in  the  penultimate 
chapter,  or  of  romantic  villains  who  roamed  the  world  at 
night  in  disguise  and  smoked  cigars  in  secret  chambers.  He 
was  quite  convinced  that  he  was  going  to  have  a delightful 
time  at  school ; he  chuckled  as  he  boasted  of  his  entrance 
papers — for,  like  many  other  idiots,  he  knew  a great  deal  of 
grammar  and  syntax — and  was  certain  that  he  would  pass 
into  the  Upper  School  and  evade  fagging,  which  office,  he 


44 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


appeared  to  imagine,  consisted  in  cooking  omelettes  ; he  was 
gluttonous  to  the  last  degree,  and  his  laughter  was  like  the 
braying  of  many  congregated  asses.  The  horrible  likeness 
to  the  village  ‘ natural  ’ grew  more  intense  every  moment, 
and  Denis  listened  to  his  empty  vauntings  in  silent  depression. 
He  felt  more  and  more  sorry  for  the  Toad,  yet  why  ? The 
Toad  was  infinitely  pleased  with  himself  ; it  never  occurred 
to  him  that  there  was  any  possibility  of  other  boys  treating 
him  with  the  method  of  Ellerton-Davidson.  He  had  not 
noticed  the  peculiar  note  in  the  laughter  of  the  new  boys 
during  the  episode  of  the  soap, — the  note  that  told  even  the 
inexperienced  Denis  that  they  had  recognised  an  inferiority 
of  spirit  in  him,  and  that  they  would  not  forget  it. 

When  the  walk  was  over,  Denis  began  to  wonder  if  he  would 
ever  make  any  friends  at  school.  The  Toad  and  Ellerton- 
Davidson  were  hopeless,  he  knew  ; he  had  nothing  to  say  to 
them  ; they  reduced  him  to  an  abject  condition  of  mental 
emptiness.  Other  boys  that  he  met  seemed  sensible  enough, 
but  after  a little  while  they  regarded  him  with  a queer  kind  of 
scrutiny  that  made  him  shrink.  It  was  obvious  that  they 
found  him  strange  ; as  strange,  perhaps,  as  the  Toad  seemed 
to  him  ; and  though  he  did  not  realise  it,  they  had  no 
attributes  that  aroused  his  sympathy.  In  spite  of  their 
physical  difference,  they  all  seemed  as  much  alike  as  an  army 
of  tin  soldiers,  disliking  work,  interested  in  games,  but  still 
more  interested  in  their  outward  and  visible  rewards,  and 
thoroughly  contemptuous  of  anything  that  did  not  exactly 
harmonise  with  their  hard  and  fast  theory  of  life.  None  of 
them  were  vivid  and  vital, — with  a twinge  of  homesickness 
he  remembered  the  little  girl  with  the  pigtail, — none,  except 
Lenwood  ; he  alone  had  some  peculiar  quality  that  made  him 
attractive ; it  was  power,  independence,  strength  to  be 
himself  in  any  circumstance.  But  Lenwood  was  so  old  and 
wise  that  friendship  with  him  would  be  impossible.  He 
moved  in  a mysterious  atmosphere  of  his  own. 

The  School  returned  that  evening ; the  class-rooms  round 
the  quadrangle  were  full  of  light  and  noise  and  moving 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


45 


figures  ; and  when  the  form  lists  were  read  in  Big  School  by 
the  headmaster,  Denis  was  able  to  look  at  the  complete 
assembled  population  of  his  new  world,  from  the  superb  and 
indolent  figures  on  the  Sixth  Form  benches,  with  their 
moustaches  and  fancy  waistcoats,  to  the  small  but  self- 
possessed  persons  who  were  his  seniors  by  a term.  He 
himself,  he  found,  was  placed  in  the  lowest  form  of  the 
Middle  School ; Lenwood,  as  he  had  prophesied,  was  in  the 
Lower  Fifth — a piece  of  presumption  in  a new  boy,  even  if  he 
was  sixteen ; and  the  Toad  was  in  the  form  immediately 
superior  to  that  of  Denis,  and  said  ‘ Here,  sir/  when  his  name 
was  read  out,  to  the  immense  joy  of  the  school.  Denis 
listened  carefully  to  the  long  sequence  of  names,  some  of 
which  sounded  extraordinarily  bizarre.  He  noticed  that  there 
were  six  Smiths,  five  Walkers,  and  four  Jacksons. 

After  Lists  came  Evening  Prayers.  Denis  had  already 
visited  the  chapel  with  his  father  ; on  that  occasion  Dr. 
Yorke  had  moved  about  uneasily,  as  was  his  custom  when  he 
was  trying  to  formulate  in  words  some  deep  emotion,  and 
finally,  placing  his  hand  on  the  boy's  shoulder,  had  said, 

4 My  dear  boy,  let  this  be  the  true  centre  of  your  school  life.' 
Denis  had  felt  terribly  uncomfortable  ; he  heard  the  thrill  in 
his  father's  voice,  and  felt  himself  a traitor  because  there  was 
no  echo  to  it  in  his  own  heart.  He  remembered  the  words 
as  he  sat  in  chapel  that  evening,  and  tried  to  imagine  that  he 
would  be  able  to  obey  them  ; but  as  he  looked  round  him  he 
felt  as  if  they  must  always  seem  to  him  totally  unconnected 
with  anything  real : the  glaring  gas-lights,  the  crowded 

careless  faces  above  the  pews,  the  masters  who  leant  forward 
to  count  the  rows  of  boys — everything  made  the  service 
seem  like  a lesson  that  had  to  be  got  through,  an  unimportant 
interlude  in  the  whirling,  sounding  life  that  reigned  all  day 
long.  How  could  one  commune  with  one's  own  heart  when 
a hundred  eyes  seemed  to  be  fixed  on  one  from  the  tiers  of 
pews  that  rose  directly  opposite  ? It  was  the  spirit  of 
worldly  authority,  and  not  of  heavenly  peace,  that  seemed 
to  brood  over  the  place  ; and  if  every  one  behaved  admirably, 
it  was  perhaps  less  from  reverence  for  God  than  from  fear 


46 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


of  the  headmaster.  The  familiar  words  of  the  prayers 
brought  no  comfort  to  Denis,  but  only  a wild  longing  that 
when  he  took  his  fingers  from  his  eyes,  he  might  see  that  old 
church  where  he  had  knelt  every  Sunday  since  he  could 
remember  ; where,  as  in  another  village  church  that  a great 
soul  loved — and  left  for  Rome — the  breath  of  the  morning 
was  damp  and  the  worshippers  few.  Now  that  they  were 
removed  from  that  humble,  whitewashed  aisle  into  this  vivid, 
frescoed  octagon,  the  words  seemed  to  lose  most  of  their  mean- 
ing and  all  their  comfort.  The  hymn  alone  seemed  real ; it 
was  a favourite  with  the  school,  and  they  sang  it  forte  until 
the  last  verse,  which  was  rendered  forte-fortissimo.  It  made 
Denis  feel  better,  but  set  him  wondering.  Why  should  a 
hymn  make  one  feel  better  than  prayer  ? He  thought  of  his 
father  ; his  father  would  certainly  be  shocked  at  such  an 
idea,  but  it  was  the  truth.  It  was  not  merely  the  music, 
and  the  joyful  unison  of  voices  : the  words  had  something  to 
do  with  it 

Time , like  an  ever-rolling  stream, 

Bears  all  its  sons  away. 

They  fly  forgotten,  as  a dream 
Dies  at  the  opening  day. 

That  seemed  to  set  your  heart  free  ; it  opened  vistas  beyond 
the  dominion  of  headmasters  ; it  made  you  feel  as  if  you 
were  travelling  steadily  across  a great  green  plain  towards 
a vast  and  magnificent  sunrise. 

A thousand  ages  in  Thy  sight 
Are  like  an  evening  gone : 

Short  as  the  watch  that  ends  the  night 
Before  the  rising  sun. 

That,  too,  said  one  quite  ordinary  thing,  and  instantly  con- 
jured up  before  your  eyes  a series  of  immense  and  marvellous 
visions,  and,  like  music,  sent  strange  shivers  down  the  nape 
of  your  neck.  Yes,  he  had  felt  this  with  music,  but  never  so 
acutely,  so  deliciously.  Why  was  this  ? Had  you  to  be 
unhappy  in  order  to  feel  it  ? He  realised  suddenly  that  the 
last  two  days  had  been  almost  unendurable  : but  now  he 
was  strong,  and  the  future  seemed  less  blank  and  dreary. 
He  felt  tranquil,  almost  happy.  If  words  and  music  could 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


47 


do  this  for  you,  he  thought,  there  was  a remedy  for  everything. 
Was  that  why  Lenwood  seemed  so  strong  ? Was  that  why 
he  carried  a book  about  with  him  wherever  he  went  ? 

But  while  a prefect  with  a deep  bass  voice  read  the  lesson 
for  the  day,  he  thought  again  of  his  father,  and  his  new 
courage  wavered  a little  as  he  realised  how  strangely  his 
thoughts  had  wandered  on  his  first  night  in  chapel.  His 
father  would  have  frowned,  he  felt,  if  he  had  known  that. 
The  hymn  had  no  divine  suggestion  : it  had  only  seemed  to 
conjure  him  away  from  his  present  environment,  and  to  set 
him  amid  the  waste  places  of  the  earth,  where  he  could  feel 
the  fingers  of  the  wind  that  caressed  his  brow,  and  could  see 
the  hills  grow  purple  beneath  the  splendour  of  dawn.  Was 
this  wrong  ? How  could  it  be  wrong  if  it  took  away  the 
gnawing  pain  that  had  oppressed  him  for  so  many  hours  ? 
Yet  he  knew  that  if  he  told  the  whole  truth  about  his  sensa- 
tions to  his  father,  he  would  be  condemned  as  profane ; and 
of  course  his  father  knew  what  was  good  and  what  was  evil ; 
he  was  old  ; he  had  thought  about  it ; he  had  made  rules. 
Rules  ! They  seemed  to  be  the  chief  things  in  life  ; other 
people  drew  them  up,  and  one  obeyed  them,  at  school,  at 
home,  everywhere.  But  if  they  made  one  miserable,  were 
they  right  ? There  was  the  Italian  adventure, — wasn't 
that  the  result  of  one  of  his  father's  rules  ? Denis  felt  that 
his  brain  was  beginning  to  whirl  round  and  round  inside  his 
skull.  He  had  never  thought  so  much  about  things  before. 
He  went  out  of  chapel  trying  to  convince  himself  that  it  was 
the  holiness  of  the  place  that  had  brought  him  comfort,  and 
not  the  queer  vision  of  plains  and  hills.  But  as  he  looked 
beyond  the  noise  and  the  lights  of  the  quadrangle  to  the 
tranquil  host  of  the  stars,  he  felt  again  the  same  strange  sense 
of  mingled  ecstasy  and  hope,  a conviction  that  he  was  living 
splendidly  in  a larger  world  than  an  English  public  school. 
What  did  it  mean  ? Did  other  boys  feel  like  that  ? He 
doubted  it  gravely,  but  at  the  moment  he  almost  felt  a 
strange  joy  in  his  loneliness. 

He  did  not  confide  his  sensations  to  any  other  of  the  new 
boys,  and  this  reticence,  perhaps,  was  fortunate.  The  night 
brought  him  the  much-needed  oblivion  of  healthy  sleep. 


48 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


VI 

THE  first  few  weeks  of  the  term  passed  away,  the  dis- 
quieting novelty  of  its  routine  grew  to  be  less  of  a 
bewilderment,  and  gradually  Denis  became,  to  all  outward 
appearance,  only  a rather  insignificant  unit  in  that  noisy 
concourse  of  fortuitous  atoms.  If  he  had  none  of  the  qualities 
that  excite  boyish  admiration,  at  any  rate  he  was  handi- 
capped by  no  obvious  eccentricity  ; the  only  person  who 
detected  any  originality  in  him  was  the  music-master,  a kind, 
irascible,  bearded  German  ; but  bitter  experience  had  taught 
this  hierophant  of  the  art  that  new  boys  with  an  enthusiasm 
for  music  were  apt  to  lose  it  as  soon  as  they  became  keen  about 
football.  At  present  Denis  was  in  no  danger  ; he  shared  the 
vain  toils  of  a mob  of  other  neophytes  as  ignorant  as  himself 
of  this  great  mystery, — an  irresponsible,  seething  mass  of 
embryo  athletes  that  was  known  to  the  school  as  hoips, 
this  uncouth  term  being  a contemptuous  abbreviation  of 
o l iroXXoi  Nor  did  he  distinguish  himself  in  work  suf- 
ficiently to  arouse  the  fury  of  the  veterans  in  his  form,  who 
had  gently  drifted  thither  at  the  rate  of  one  remove  in  a 
year  ; he  was  quick  at  learning,  but  his  natural  aptitude  was 
handicapped  by  the  strangeness  of  the  system.  In  form, 
when  he  was  on  the  point  of  answering  something  correctly, 
a boy  below  him  would  make  grotesque  and  passionate 
gestures,  the  master  would  pass  the  question  on  to  him,  and 
Denis  would  go  down  a place  with  his  knowledge  unuttered  ; 
or  he  would  become  really  interested  in  what  seemed  to  him 
the  vital  and  essential  part  of  some  piece  of  work,  to  find, 
when  the  hour  came  for  hearing  the  lesson,  that  less  importance 
was  attached  to  it  than  to  the  insignificant  context.  It  took 
him  some  time  to  learn  to  be  punctual ; on  the  first  morning 
of  term  he  entered  Big  School  at  fifteen  and  a quarter 
minutes  past  nine,  and  was  horrified  to  find  that  he  had  to 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


49 


stand  at  the  end  of  a long  row  of  boys  in  the  middle  of  the 
room  until  the  master  had  given  him  a copy.  What  would 
his  father  say,  he  thought,  if  he  knew  that  his  school  life  had 
begun  with  an  imposition  ? His  throat  grew  dry  and  his 
face  burned,  and  the  sight  of  other  new  boys  in  the  same 
distressing  situation  did  not  comfort  him  in  the  least.  He 
confessed  his  shame  in  the  first  letter  that  he  wrote  home, 
and  Dr.  Yorke  improved  the  occasion  when  he  answered 
it.  Dr.  Yorke  also  began  to  discuss  the  horrible  event  very 
solemnly  with  Gabriel  Searle,  and  was  annoyed  when  that 
wicked  person  refused  to  console  him  with  serious  attention. 

Denis,  of  course,  soon  made  many  acquaintances,  but  the 
weeks  went  on  without  bringing  to  light  any  one  whom  he 
could  really  regard  as  a friend.  There  were  certain  boys  in 
his  house  or  his  form  with  whom  he  went  for  walks  on  Sundays, 
or  tramped  the  quadrangle  after  chapel  because  there  was  a 
reign  of  terror  in  their  form-rooms,  but  after  a month  had 
passed  he  was  still  spiritually,  though  never  actually,  alone  ; 
he  had  found  no  one  except  Lenwood  whom  he  wished  to 
see  continually.  Lenwood,  as  a matter  of  fact,  seemed  almost 
to  have  forgotten  his  existence  ; he  never  spoke  to  Denis 
when  they  happened  to  meet  in  the  quadrangle,  and  always 
went  about  with  an  old  boy  in  the  Lower  Fifth,  a shy,  clever, 
awkward  Scot  named  M'Curdy.  In  the  house  Lenwood 
had  a book  in  front  of  his  nose  except  when  it  was  forcibly 
removed  by  Philistine  seniors.  He  was  unpopular,  but  the 
small  gang  of  tormentors  who  made  life  hideous  to  new  boys 
when  there  were  no  prefects  near  did  not  waste  their  energies 
on  him.  They  had  tested  him  once  ; the  red-haired,  weasel- 
eyed boy,  whom  Denis  had  seen  on  the  day  of  the  entrance 
examination,  had  poured  a basin  of  dirty  water  on  the  book 
that  he  was  reading,  and  Lenwood  had  sent  him  spinning, 
a dizzy  vision  of  redness,  broken  crockery,  and  flying  limbs, 
into  a fireplace  that  was  fortunately  without  flame.  Thence- 
forward the  tormentors  were  content  to  jeer  at  him  in  loud 
asides,  and  the  new  boys  murmured  amongst  themselves  at 
his  pride.  The  Olympians  of  the  house,  too,  disliked  him, 
and  treated  him  with  a mock  deference,  which  he  returned 

D 


50 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


until  they  lost  their  tempers  and  called  him  an  insolent  young 
swine.  He  would  smile  vaguely  and  retire  into  one  of  his 
wretched  books.  Certainly  he  was  a thoroughly  irritating 
object — to  every  one  except  one  insignificant,  dark-eyed, 
pale-faced  boy  whose  existence  he  seemed  to  ignore.  The 
short  scene  when  various  fragments  of  earthenware  had  been 
incorporated  in  the  person  of  the  red-haired  boy  confirmed 
Denis  in  his  impression  of  Lenwood  as  a kind  of  walking 
volcano,  usually  quiescent,  but  terrible  and  flamboyant  in 
eruption. 

If  the  tormentors  found  Lenwood  dangerous,  they  had  the 
consolation  of  discovering  an  easy  victim  in  the  Toad.  That 
unfortunate  was  marked  down  as  a prey  very  early  in  the 
term,  but  for  a week  or  two  he  was  permitted  to  remain  in  a 
fool's  paradise  of  his  own.  The  poor  wretch  had  been  so 
bullied  and  derided  at  his  private  school  that  he  rashly 
imagined  himself  to  be  popular  in  his  new  environment 
merely  because  he  was  not  kicked.  Consequently  he  assumed 
ridiculous  airs,  wore  his  insane  grin  at  all  inappropriate 
seasons,  and  actually  began  to  patronise  other  new  boys. 
His  illusions  were  soon  shattered.  One  evening,  after  chapel, 
the  tormentors  were  grouped  round  the  dormitory  fire,  intent 
on  iniquity,  when  the  Toad  entered.  The  red-haired  boy, 
whose  name  was  Verney,  but  whom  every  one  who  dared 
called  Scrunch,  was  in  the  middle  of  the  group.  The  Toad 
grinned  toothily  at  them  and  sauntered  up  the  dormitory. 
He  had  only  gone  a few  yards  when  Verney  said  : 

‘ Hullo,  there 's  my  old  friend  Madden.  Come  here. 
Madden,  my  little  lad.  You  're  the  man  we  wanted  to  see.’ 

His  voice  was  genial,  and  the  Toad  turned. 

‘ Hullo  ! ' he  said.  His  grin  contracted  as  he  met  their  eyes. 
He  had  seen  that  particular  expression  in  boys'  faces  before. 

‘ Madden,'  said  Verney,  ‘ I hear  that  you  're  very  good  at 
footer.’  This  was  humour  on  the  part  of  the  red-haired  boy, 
for  the  fantastic  shapes  assumed  by  the  Toad  on  the  football 
field  were  already  notorious.  The  Toad  himself  was  quite 
convinced  that  he  was  a superb  athlete,  but  he  thought  that 
a modest  reply  would  meet  the  present  occasion. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


Si 

‘ No,  I ’m  not/  he  said,  leering.  4 No,  I ’m  not.  I ’m 
a crock/ 

The  inscrutable  mind  of  boys  ! Crock  was  a word  which 
had  no  place  in  the  school  vocabulary  ; if  any  one,  from 
physical  weakness  or  for  some  other  reason,  did  not  earn 
distinction  on  the  football  field,  he  was  invariably  labelled 
a slacker.  A mighty  shout  of  mirth  went  up  from  the  tor- 
mentors, and  the  Toad  stood  in  front  of  them  with  a sinking 
heart,  wondering  if  his  popularity  were  quite  as  universal 
as  he  had  supposed.  Then  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  must 
have  said  something  really  funny,  and  his  face  brightened. 

4 I am,  really/  he  said  : 4 an  utter  crock.  But  I hope  to 
get  my  badge  this  term  all  the  same.  I ’m  bigger  than 
Ellerton-Davidson,  and  he  ’s  been  played  for  the  house/ 

His  aspirations  seemed  to  amuse  the  tormentors  even  more 
than  his  modesty.  When  there  was  a lull  in  the  laughter 
Verney  addressed  him. 

4 You  Ye  a broken-down old  cab-horse,  that ’s  what  you 

are/  he  said.  4 Go  to  your  stable.’ 

4 He-he/  said  the  Toad.  Verney  advanced  suddenly 
towards  him. 

4 Do  you  hear  ? ’ he  said  in  menacing  accents.  4 Go  away, 
you ’ 

The  Toad  obeyed  quickly,  and  as  he  went  Verney  ran  after 
him,  leapt  on  his  back,  and  compelled  him  to  carry  him  up 
and  down  the  dormitory.  The  Toad  still  tried  to  believe  that 
this  was  only  another  result  of  his  popularity. 

4 Oh,  I say,  shut  up,  Scrunch  ! ’ he  mumbled. 

Verney  thumped  his  head  with  his  fists.  4 How  dare  you 
call  me  that ! ’ he  shouted.  Then  he  slipped  down  from  the 
Toad’s  back,  and  accelerated  his  progress  towards  his  com- 
partment with  a tremendous  kick.  4 I ’ll  teach  you,  Mr. 
Madden ! ’ he  shouted.  The  unhappy  Toad  heard  the 
approving  comments  of  the  group  at  the  fire,  and  his  com- 
placent illusions  vanished  like  smoke  in  the  wind.  4 A filthy 
man  ! ’ they  said  ; 4 a loathsome  person  ! ’ The  adjective 
was  shrieked  in  falsetto. 

Denis  escaped  their  attentions  ; partly  because  he  was  so 


52 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


quiet  and  insignificant,  partly  because  his  wanderings  on  the 
hills  had  made  him  active,  though  not  strong,  so  that  he 
developed  a certain  talent  for  gymnastics,  and  was  chosen  as  a 
member  of  the  rather  mediocre  team  that  represented  the 
house.  Lister's  prided  itself  on  its  football,  and  was  airily 
indifferent  to  other  forms  of  athletics, — even  cricket  was 
esteemed  vastly  inferior  to  the  winter  game  ; still,  a new  boy 
who  represented  his  house  in  any  way  was  not  wholly  despic- 
able, and  Denis,  if  his  character  by  any  chance  was  weighed 
in  critical  balances,  was  allowed  to  be  ‘ a decent  little  man.' 
Every  one,  of  course,  was  a man  ; as  men  they  wore  their 
caps  far  down  over  their  brows  lest  they  should  be  accused  of 
‘ side  ’ ; and  as  men  they  went  to  be  birched  by  the  head- 
master. 

He  soon  learnt  the  name  of  every  one  in  the  house,  from 
Arbuthnot,  the  mighty  captain,  the  hero  of  heroes,  who  had 
been  in  the  Fifteen  for  years  and  was  immense  and  lazy  and 
kind,  to  the  small  and  squalid  boy  who  ate  threercornered 
jam-tarts  in  his  bed,  and  was  therefore  beaten,  though  but 
gently,  by  the  prefects.  Except  for  the  gang  of  tormentors 
(who  were  about  seventeen  years  old  and  good  at  football), 
they  were  pleasant  creatures,  all  speaking  the  same  peculiar 
language  with  the  same  intonation,  all  immensely  serious 
about  their  own  right  of  precedence  over  others,  and  all 
apparently  thinking  of  the  same  thing  at  the  same  moment. 
One  or  two  of  the  older  boys,  it  is  true,  had  special  interests  : 
J ames,  who  had  his  Thirty  cap  and  used  appalling  language, 
was  president  of  the  Natural  Science  Society,  and  on  one 
occasion  had  domesticated  a new  and  prolific  species  of 
beetle  in  the  dormitory ; Wilkinson  the  prefect  painted 
flamboyant  water-colours  of  sunsets  over  blasted  heaths  ; 
but  these  deviations,  though  regarded  as  amiable  follies  in 
the  great,  were  sins  in  the  small.  Conform, — conform  or  be 
kicked, — that  was  the  motto  which  should  have  been  added 
by  way  of  postscript  to  the  inspiring  words  on  the  tablet 
over  the  lodge  gates.  The  pariahs  who  by  sickness  or  any 
other  adversity  had  perpetual  leave  to  abstain  from  football 
were  generally  regarded  as  worms  and  no  men,  and  the  boy 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


53 


who  aired  his  ideas  on  subjects  not  immediately  relative  to 
school  life  was  voted  a smug,  and  suffered  accordingly. 
Lenwood  was  universally  suspected  of  possessing  a holy 
mind,  because  some  one  looked  into  a volume  of  Gibbon  that 
he  had  been  reading,  and  found  that  it  contained  an  account 
of  the  early  Christians.  ‘ Lenwood  ’s  a hopeless  rotter  : he 
reads  pi  books  all  day  long,’  was  the  verdict  of  the  school, — 
an  assumption  that  should  have  caused  the  great  author  of 
the  Decline  and  Fall  to  writhe  in  his  coffin. 

Denis  conformed,  with  interior  reservations.  Behind  the 
transitory  pageants  of  his  school  life  brooded  the  steadfast 
shadow  of  all  that  had  been  real  to  his  childhood, — the 
immense  and  immutable  upland,  the  sigh  of  the  evening  wind 
in  the  parched  grasses,  and  the  passionate  colour  of  vast 
sunsets.  At  the  most  uninspiring  moments  of  a lesson,  or  as 
he  lay  drowsily  in  bed  at  night  whilst  the  prefects  talked  of 
football  round  the  dormitory  fire,  the  memory  of  those  evenings 
would  return  to  him  ; he  would  be  haunted  by  visions  of 
fiery  skies,  and  his  heart  would  ache  with  some  indefinable 
yearning.  He  became  afraid  of  these  recurring  obsessions  ; 
whilst  they  lasted  he  was  the  prey  of  an  ecstasy  that  was 
almost  painful,  and  when  they  had  gone  his  life  at  school 
seemed  grey  and  noisy  and  thronged  with  meaningless, 
depressing  duties.  Sometimes  he  felt  that  these  thrilling 
periods  of  obsession  were  the  only  moments  when  he  really 
lived  ; sometimes  he  was  racked  with  dim  anger  because  he 
could  not  be  like  other  boys,  who  lived  entirely  for  the  moment 
and  were  not  made  excited  or  miserable  by  the  phantoms 
of  their  own  imaginations.  He  would  watch  their  faces 
during  work,  trying  to  discover  in  them  the  hint  of  some 
secret  like  his  own  ; but  the  quest  was  fruitless,  and  he  made 
no  confidences.  Perhaps  he  had  some  dread  of  laughter 
from  the  profane,  but  his  silence  was  chiefly  due  to  the 
fact  that  it  was  impossible  to  express  this  haunting  emotion 
in  words.  Yet  it  seemed  to  crave  for  expression  } if  he 
could  have  some  friend  to  whom  he  could  describe  all  the 
things  that  thrilled  him  with  their  memory,  the  moor,  the 
wind,  the  trees,  the  tiny  flowers  that  grew  close  to  the  sweet- 


54 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


smelling  earth,  the  bleating  of  lambs  in  March  twilight — if 
he  could  have  recited  all  this  quite  slowly,  he  would  ease  his 
mind  of  an  intolerable  and  aching  burden.  Yet  even  then 
he  would  only  express  the  outward  aspect  of  the  things  them- 
selves,  and  not  their  united  effect  on  him,  which  was  no  more 
translatable  into  words  than  the  thought  of  a new  colour. 

Towards  the  end  of  term  something  happened  to  which  he 
looked  back  in  after-life  as  one  of  the  most  significant  events 
in  his  own  secret  history.  Tennyson  died  ; and  Mr.  Lister, 
who  as  a rule  read  only  books  that  treated  of  ornithology, 
was  inspired  to  take  down  the  works  of  the  dead  poet  from 
his  shelves.  Having  read  some  pages,  he  decided  that  the 
house  should  be  awakened  to  the  fact  that  there  were  other 
kinds  of  literature  than  the  lurid  works  of  adventure  in  its 
library,  and  therefore  he  gave  orders  that  every  one  should 
assemble  in  the  dormitory  after  evening  chapel.  Great 
curiosity  prevailed  amongst  the  boys  when  the  order  was 
known,  for  Mr.  Lister  most  rarely  harangued  the  house  ; 
but  curiosity  changed  to  dismay  when  he  opened  a stout 
green  volume  and  proceeded  to  read  The  Ode  on  the  Death 
of  the  Duke  of  Wellington.  The  House  listened  to  him  more  in 
sorrow  than  in  anger,  though  one  or  two  of  the  prefects 
seemed  mildly  interested.  But,  of  course,  it  is  a point  of 
honour  with  prefects  to  be  gentle  with  the  housemaster. 
Mr.  Lister,  not  content  with  delivering  the  whole  of  the  Ode, 
finished  his  entertainment  with  Crossing  the  Bar,  which  made 
the  red-haired  boy  called  Scrunch  dissolve  into  silent  giggles. 
Then  he  shut  the  book  with  a snap,  said  good-night  to  the 
house,  wagged  his  head,  and  marched  away  to  his  stuffed 
birds. 

Mr.  Lister  was  not  an  accomplished  reader  ; he  gave  you 
an  uneasy  impression  that  he  wanted  to  say  ‘ my  person  * 
at  the  end  of  each  sentence  ; but  to  one  of  his  audience  his 
voice  was  as  the  blended  accents  of  Apollo  and  the  Nine. 
Hitherto  Denis  had  thought  that  the  type  of  all  poetry  was 
to  be  found  in  The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel  and  Martnion  ; 
but  now  he  realised  that  there  was  another  kind, — a kind 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


55 


which  set  great  visions  rolling  before  your  eyes,  and  brought 
a friendly  comfort  into  your  heart,  and  boomed  and  rever- 
berated in  your  ears  like  thunder  in  the  hills.  What  was  the 
magic  of  this  arrangement  of  ordinary  words  ? Why  should 
an  ode  on  a defunct  soldier  bring  a small  boy  in  Lower-Middle 
Two  this  infinite  sense  of  consolation  ? Did  it  have  this 
effect  on  every  one  ? He  looked  round  him  as  Mr.  Lister 
departed  ; almost  every  face  wore  an  expression  of  enormous 
relief  : the  Toad  was  grinning,  and  the  great  Arbuthnot 
began  to  talk  about  an  imminent  house-match. 

Suddenly  Denis  realised  that  some  one  was  staring  at  him. 
He  looked  round  and  found  Lenwood  watching  him  with 
an  expression  of  amused  interest.  The  lanky  boy  sauntered 
towards  him  and  said  in  an  undertone : 4 If  you  're  seen 
looking  like  that  when  poetry  is  being  read  you  'll  be  kicked 
for  a certainty.  The  old  ass  reads  awfully  badly,  doesn't 
he  ? But  it  was  rather  keen  of  him.  Did  you  see  all  their 
faces  ? ' 

Denis  did  not  answer.  He  was  conscious  of  an  extra- 
ordinary joy  that  Lenwood  was  talking  to  him  so  familiarly, 
as  if  they  shared  a secret  that  the  rest  of  the  house  ignored 
profanely. 

4 Is  there  a lot  more  like  that  ? ' he  asked. 

Lenwood  stared  at  him  again  with  his  ironical  eyes,  and 
nodded. 

4 Lots,'  he  said,  4 and  any  amount  that 's  better.  Tenny- 
son 's  too  sugary,  generally,  for  my  taste.’ 

4 Compartments,  please  ! ’ bellowed  Arbuthnot.  The  house 
began  to  drift  up  the  dormitory.  Lenwood  and  Denis  walked 
together  towards  their  adjacent  cubicles. 

4 Where  can  I get  it  ? ' Denis  demanded.  4 Is  it  in  the 
school  library  ? ’ 

4 Some  of  it,’  Lenwood  answered ; 4 not  half  enough.' 

He  looked  meditatively  at  Denis.  4 I suppose  you  eat 
filthy  sticky  stodge  all  day  ? ’ he  said. 

Denis  denied  the  accusation.  He  had  no  passion  for  sweet 
things,  and  very  little  pocket-money.  Lenwood  halted  by 
the  curtain  of  his  compartment. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


56 

‘ If  you  don’t/  he  said,  ‘ and  if  you  ’ll  swear  by  all  your 
gods  to  take  the  most  awful  care  of  it,  I don’t  mind  lend- 
ing you  some.  I ’ve  got  any  amount.’ 

Denis  was  about  to  thank  him  when  Arbuthnot  roared 
from  the  end  of  the  dormitory  : ‘You,  sir  ! what ’s  your 
name  ? Yorke  ! Will  you  do  me  the  personal  and  particular 
favour  of  going  to  your  compartment ! ’ 

Denis  fled. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


57 


VII 


DAY  or  two  later  his  new  interest  in  life  was  abruptly 


arrested  by  a severe  chill,  that  sent  him  to  the 
Sanatorium  with  a throbbing  head  and  an  abnormal  tempera- 
ture. His  spectral  appearance  rather  scared  the  doctor, 
who  feared  pneumonia,  and  put  him  in  a room  by  himself. 
There  was  another  bed  in  the  room,  but  it  was  untenanted, 
and  there  were  Arundel  Society  prints  on  the  walls  of  early 
Italian  pictures  with  fantastic  rockeries,  and  queer  people 
in  red  tights,  and  excessively  lean  greyhounds.  Denis 
stared  at  them  for  hours  with  feverish  eyes,  and  grew  to 
loathe  them  heartily.  His  head  seemed  to  become  hotter 
and  hotter,  and  the  only  method  by  which  he  managed  to 
forget  the  pain  that  hung  about  him  like  fire  was  to  invent 
long  stories  where  the  people  that  he  knew  figured  in  scenes 
familiar  to  his  childhood.  The  great  art  in  this  kind  of 
invention  was  to  avoid  an  end  ; if  the  story  ended  you 
had  nothing  to  think  of  but  an  aching  brow  until  the  next 
one  began,  and  you  had  to  fall  half  asleep  before  they  would 
start.  Often  the  characters  would  get  out  of  control  and  do 
the  most  impossible  things,  and  then  you  awoke  and  felt 
wretched.  The  great  thing  was  to  keep  them  all  moving 
quietly  and  tranquilly  through  pleasant  scenes. 

He  was  thoroughly  ill  for  about  a week,  and  then  his 
temperature  became  normal,  the  Arundel  prints  seemed  less 
offensive  to  his  soul,  and  be  began  to  develop  an  immense 
hunger.  The  matron,  a hard-working,  narrow-minded  woman 
with  a sentimental  soul  and  a bitter  tongue,  discovered  that 
he  liked  reading,  brought  him  Thackeray's  Book  of  Snobs 
from  the  Sanatorium  library,  and  from  her  own  a mawkish 
story  about  a pious  infant  who  scored  heavily  off  the  wicked 
and  died  young.  But  Denis  was  bored ; footmen  and  social 


58 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


satire  did  not  interest  him,  and  he  hated  the  holiness  of  the 
matron's  child-hero.  It  was  more  jolly  to  stare  at  the  stripes 
of  the  window  blinds,  whilst  you  tried  to  remember  certain 
lines  of  the  Wellington  Ode. 

Mr.  Lister  had  sent  a boy  every  day  to  inquire  about  his 
condition,  but  did  not  appear  in  person  until  Denis  was 
convalescent.  He  sat  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  and  pummelled 
Denis  gently,  informing  him  that  he  had  no  excuse  for  falling 
ill,  and  that  he  was  a disgrace  to  the  House,  like  every  other 
boy  in  it.  Denis  suggested  Arbuthnot  as  an  exception  ; 
Mr.  Lister  barked  loudly,  and  denounced  that  great  man  as 
an  apostle  of  indolence.  ‘ Twelve  stone  six  of  sloth  and 
vanity,  my  person/  he  said.  But  Denis  was  beginning  to 
understand  Mr.  Lister,  and  had  seen  a photograph  which 
showed  the  housemaster  and  the  captain  of  the  house 
sitting  on  a rock  in  Scotland  with  pipes  in  their  mouths  and 
shining  salmon  lying  at  their  feet.  Denis  longed  to  ask 
him  for  the  loan  of  his  Tennyson,  but  was  too  shy. 

A more  terrifying  visitor  invaded  his  solitude  next  day  * 
the  headmaster  paid  a surprise  visit  to  the  Sanatorium, 
looked  into  the  room  where  Denis  lay,  and  entered,  followed 
by  the  doctor.  He  only  stayed  for  a few  moments,  and 
Denis  found  his  presence  less  of  an  ordeal  than  he  would  have 
imagined  it.  The  headmaster  seemed  personally  interested 
in  his  recovery,  asked  him  some  apparently  inconsequent 
questions  which,  as  Denis  realised  afterwards,  obliged  the 
boy  to  give  hints  as  to  whether  he  was  happy  or  unhappy  at 
school,  and  spoke  to  the  doctor  about  the  Arundel  prints, 
which  he  did  not  seem  to  appreciate.  Denis  noticed  that  he 
said  ‘ ain’t  ’ just  like  the  people  on  the  moor  at  home,  but 
this  peculiarity  did  not  in  the  least  impair  his  majesty  ; 
Denis  felt  that,  in  his  way,  he  was  almost  as  wonderful  as 
Lenwood ; he  gave  you  the  same  impression  of  immense 
strength,  and  he  had  the  same  look  of  sombre  authority  in  his 
eyes.  Altogether  a terrific  person,  radiating  power,  very 
much  alive  indeed.  Not  many  of  the  other  masters  were 
like  that.  His  form-master,  a mild  youth  whose  chief 
scholastic  qualification  had  been  a hockey  blue  at  Cambridge, 


THE  FIRST  ROUND  59 

seemed  to  him  the  silliest  of  all  silly  sheep.  His  mouth 
never  would  shut  properly. 

Through  his  open  door  Denis  heard  every  day  the  voices 
of  boys  who  came  to  see  convalescent  friends  ; sometimes 
they  looked  into  his  room,  then  withdrew,  and  when  this 
happened  he  felt  rather  bitterly  that  he  was  without  friends  ; 
no  one  cared  to  come  and  see  him.  Yet  he  was  not  sure  that 
there  was  any  one  whom  he  would  welcome  ; he  was  content 
to  lie  at  peace,  thinking  of  great  open  spaces  and  weaving 
interminable  fictions.  His  mind  had  the  tranquil  clearness 
that  comes  with  recovery  from  illness  ; it  was  good  to  rest 
with  no  responsibilities  to  trouble  one  ; to  hear  the  rush  of 
feet  outside  in  the  early  morning,  and  then  to  go  to  sleep  again  ; 
to  watch  the  firelight  in  the  evening,  and  to  enjoy  a peace 
unknown  in  noisy  form-rooms.  There  was  one  person,  of 
course,  whom  he  would  like  to  see  ; but  that  was  impossible  ; 
he  hardly  knew  him.  They  had  spoken  to  each  other  once 
during  the  two  months  that  had  passed  since  he  came  to 
school. 

So  that  when  Lenwood  came  into  his  room  one  Saturday 
afternoon  he  gasped  with  astonishment,  and  felt  far  more 
shy  than  he  had  been  in  the  presence  of  the  headmaster. 
The  tall  boy  came  to  the  bedside  with  his  peculiarly  de- 
liberate tread,  thumped  down  a lot  of  books  on  the  feet 
of  the  convalescent,  and  remarked  : 

4 Hullo  ! I 've  brought  you  these.  I ought  to  have  brought 
them  before,  but  I forgot  all  about  it/  Which  statement, 
of  course,  meant,  ‘ I forgot  all  about  you  ' ; but  Denis  was 
too  full  of  amazement  to  care.  ‘ Here 's  some  Browning, 
which  you  won't  understand,  although  people  who  say  it 's 
really  difficult  are  idiots.  Here 's  Keats ; p'raps  you  'll 
be  able  to  manage  some  of  his  short  things.  The  tip  is  to 
sing  them  to  yourself  inside  until  you  know  them  by  heart. 
Here 's  a thing  called  the  Golden  Treasury  which  is  just 
packed  with  good  stuff  ! I don't  suppose  you  'll  care  about 
any  of  it ; still  I said  I 'd  lend  it  to  you,  and  I 've  done  it. 
What 's  this  ? ' 

He  picked  up  the  pious  work  that  the  matron  had  lent  to 


6o 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


Denis  and  glanced  through  it.  Presently  he  began  to  laugh, 
and  his  laughter  was  scornful.  At  this  inauspicious  moment 
the  matron  entered  the  room,  and  walked  up  to  Lenwood. 
Her  chatelaine  jangled  angrily,  and  there  was  rage  in  her 
eye.  Lenwood  glanced  at  her,  and  then  continued  to  be 
amused  by  her  book.  This  kind  of  treatment  did  not  add 
to  the  matron's  tranquillity. 

4 What  is  your  name,  please  ? ' she  asked. 

Lenwood  looked  at  her  again  with  a surprised  air,  and 
answered. 

4 I suppose  you  know  the  rules  of  the  Sanatorium  ? ' she 
said.  4 What  do  you  mean  by  coming  straight  upstairs 
without  asking  leave  ? I shall  report  you  to  your  house- 
master.' 

Denis  felt  thoroughly  disgusted.  Here  at  last  was  a 
chance  to  talk  to  Lenwood,  and  this  miserable  matron  was 
going  to  spoil  it  all.  Lenwood,  of  course,  began  to  look  sulky, 
and  didn't  trouble  to  explain  that  he  had  got  leave  from  the 
doctor,  whom  he  met  at  the  door  setting  out  to  play  golf. 

4 Very  well,  Miss  Bowman,’  he  said,  4 I 'll  go.'  He  turned 
to  Denis  : 4 How  can  you  read  such  appalling  tosh  ? ' he 
asked. 

This  was  too  much  for  Miss  Bowman,  who  recognised  her 
book. 

4 You  're  a very  impertinent  boy,'  she  said.  4 You  knew 
that  I lent  it  to  him.  I shall  certainly  report  you  for 
insolence.' 

Lenwood  smiled  slowly. 

4 I didn't  know  it  was  your  book,'  he  said,  4 but  I think 
just  the  same  of  it,  anyhow.  It 's  sanctimonious  humbug. 
I bet  that  the  creature  who  wrote  it  turns  out  that  kind  of 
thing  by  the  dozen,  and  drinks  like  a fish  and  swears  like  a 
fishwife.  Good-bye,  Yorke,'  he  added,  and  walked  out 
deliberately.  The  matron  was  completely  overwhelmed. 

4 And  he 's  a new  boy  ! ' she  ejaculated.  4 I never  ! Upon 
my  soul ! ' Her  criticisms  were  cut  short  by  the  sudden 
reappearance  of  Lenwood.  He  put  his  head  in  at  the  door 
and  looked  at  Denis. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


61 


‘ Are  you  better  ? * he  asked  curtly.  Then  he  fled,  and 
Miss  Bowman  followed  him  with  her  chatelaine  clanking  like 
the  weapons  of  a pursuing  army. 

Denis  was  too  greatly  astonished  by  this  visit  to  think 
of  looking  at  the  books  that  lay  on  his  bed  ; he  could  only 
meditate  on  this  marvellous  Lenwood,  who  seemed  superior 
to  every  one  ; who  had  discomfited  even  the  matron  ; whose 
departure  was  not  a retreat,  but  a victorious  and  voluntary 
withdrawal  with  all  the  honours  of  war.  It  is  possible  that 
if  he  could  have  seen  the  fate  of  Lenwood  as  he  went  down  the 
passage  he  might  have  realised  that  his  divinity  was  not 
always  and  completely  master  of  the  situation.  Some  boys 
in  the  next  room,  who  were  supposed  to  be  extremely  unwell, 
had  observed  the  entrance  of  the  bearer  of  books,  and  one  of 
them,  called  Tellier,  lurked  by  the  doorway  until  he  returned, 
and  almost  felled  him  to  the  earth  with  a heavy  bolster. 
Tellier,  of  course,  was  happily  unconscious  of  the  matron’s 
presence ; he  only  heard  the  rattle  of  her  chatelaine  after 
the  blow  fell ; but  the  next  ten  minutes  yielded  him  more 
than  enough  of  her  society. 

The  result  of  this  brief  drama  was  that  Tellier,  who  had 
been  the  life  and  soul  of  the  gay  fellowship  in  the  next  room, 
was  separated  from  his  kindred  spirits  and  sent  to  occupy 
the  vacant  bed  near  that  of  Denis.  He  came  in  at  tea-time, 
wrapped  in  a purple  rug,  wearing  red  morocco  slippers,  and 
dropping  a long  trail  of  hairbrushes,  soap  and  tooth  powder 
as  he  shuffled  along  the  passage.  He  was  a big  boy  about 
seventeen  ; Denis  had  noticed  his  jolly,  florid  face  in  chapel, 
where  he  sat  next  but  one  to  Lenwood.  He  grinned  agreeably 
at  Denis  as  he  dropped  what  was  left  of  his  load  on  the  floor. 

‘ Hullo  ! ’ he  said.  ‘ Mother  Bowman  has  sent  me  in  here. 
Rather  rough  luck  ; we  had  no  end  of  a rag  in  that  room. 
Did  you  hear  your  friend  dying  on  the  stairs  ? ’ 

He  kicked  off  his  red  morocco  slippers  and  sat  down  cross- 
legged  on  his  bed. 

‘ You  ’ve  been  pretty  bad,  haven’t  you  ? ’ he  asked,  and 
without  waiting  for  an  answer,  went  on  : 'I ’ve  been  in  this 
beastly  hole  for  three  weeks.  That  great  lout  J ackson  kicked 


62 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


me  in  the  stomach  when  we  played  Houston’s.  I was  sick 
twenty-nine  times.  Rather  rough  not  getting  my  thirty, 
wasn’t  it  ? Funny  joke.  Patent.  I ’m  all  right  now, 
though  ; I took  off  my  belly-band  yesterday.  By  the  way, 
what ’s  your  name  ? ’ When  he  heard  the  answer  to  this 
question  his  face  became  amusingly  penitent. 

‘ You  ’re  the  man  I ought  to  have  asked  to  tea,’  he  said. 
4 I put  it  off  day  after  day,  and  then  I got  smashed  up.  Don’t 
you  know  some  people  called  Duroy  ? ’ 

‘ Oh  ! ’ cried  Denis,  ‘ the  little  girl  with  the  pigtail ’ 

Tellier  laughed.  ‘ Her  pater ’s  my  uncle,’  he  explained. 
‘ I used  to  go  and  stay  with  them  when  they  lived  in  France. 
They  told  me  to  look  out  for  you.  You  must  come  to  tea  as 
soon  as  we  ’re  out  of  this.  I’m  in  a study  with  old  M'Curdy, 
that  Caledonian  stern  and  wild.  You  know  him,  don’t  you  ? 
He ’s  a friend  of  Lenwood’s.  Lenwood  comes  and  talks 
high  art  to  him  till  my  stomach  aches.’  He  sprang  up  and 
began  to  look  at  the  books  on  Denis’s  bed.  ‘Oh!,  you  ’re 
a high  artist  too  ! ’ he  said.  ‘ So  am  I in  a sort  of  way.  I 
read  French  novels.  I am  French,  you  know,  really,  but 
I ’ve  lived  in  England  all  my  life.  My  name ’s  Tellier — 
curious,  isn’t  it  ? but  they  all  call  me  Boosey  because  they 
think  I ’m  mad.’ 

Denis  felt  half  inclined  to  share  their  opinion.  The  new- 
comer rattled  on  inexhaustibly,  and  when  a stolid  nurse 
brought  in  their  tea  he  placed  his  hand  on  his  heart  and  made 
her  a passionate  declaration  in  French.  One  fact  about  him 
was  very  soon  obvious  ; he  was  immensely  popular.  All 
sorts  and  conditions  of  boys  came  to  see  him,  from  the  great 
Arbuthnot,  whose  increasing  bulk  was  mocked  unmercifully 
by  Tellier,  to  M'Curdy,  the  saturnine  Scot  with  tranquil 
eyes  and  a sense  of  humour.  Perhaps  if  he  had  not  been  a 
fine  athlete  his  amazing  volubility  would  have  seemed  less 
attractive  to  the  School,  but  he  was  in  the  Fifteen,  and  was 
also  a runner  of  notable  swiftness.  He  did  not,  however, 
seem  very  serious  even  with  regard  to  athletics,  and  ex- 
pounded his  theory  on  the  subject  with  great  frankness. 

‘ Most  men  smug  at  footer  just  as  smugs  smug  at  work/ 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


63 

he  said  : ‘ I play  games  because  I like  them.  They  make 
me  feel  alive  all  over, — at  least  footer  does,  and  running  the 
quarter.  I loathe  cricket ; it 's  so  solemn, — like  drill.  You 
watch  a fellow  try  to  hit  a ball  five  times,  and  then  you  walk 
across  a field  and  watch  him  again.  Give  me  something  where 
you  re  going  all  the  time  and  don't  get  cool.' 

His  social  theories,  too,  were  unconventional,  if  not  exactly 
novel.  ‘ It 's  utter  piffle  to  suppose  that  men  who  are  good 
at  games  and  get  caps  and  things  and  think  themselves  gods 
are  any  decenter  than  men  who  don't.  Old  Curds  has  been 
here  four  years  and  is  putrid  at  footer, — just  plays  for  his 
house, — and  he 's  far  away  the  best  man  in  the  school.  He 's 
keen  on  the  things  that  matter  to  him.'  But  these  profound 
utterances  did  not  proceed  frequently  from  the  mouth  of 
Tellier  ; usually  he  was  occupied  in  singing  ridiculous  songs, 
making  up  nonsensical  stories,  or  imitating  the  masters, 
for  he  was  a superb  mimic.  Denis  found  inexhaustible  joy 
in  watching  him,  and  he  treated  Denis  as  an  equal  and  a 
friend.  Is  there  any  one  with  French  blood  in  his  veins 
who  is  not  secretly  flattered  when  he  finds  a sympathetic 
audience  ? Denis  was  really  appreciative ; he  admired 
Tellier's  extraordinary  vitality  so  greatly  that  even  the 
memory  of  Lenwood  grew  faint,  and  he  talked  to  him  without 
the  least  self-consciousness.  Here,  thank  goodness,  was 
another  person  who  was  very  much  alive. 

Denis  soon  discovered  that  Tellier's  popularity  was  due  to 
his  enormous  optimism  ; he  saw  the  jolly  side  of  everything 
and  every  one.  4 Curds  is  a glorious  man  ! ' he  would  say  : 

‘ he 's  so  splendidly  surly  ! ' Or  again,  after  a whimsical 
altercation  with  the  matron  : ‘ Old  Mother  Bowman 's  a 

fearful  rotter,  but  she  does  know  how  to  be  decent  to  cats. 
She  goes  up  to  London  and  finds  one  that 's  starving,  and 
brings  it  down  here  and  fattens  it  till  it  dies.'  And  apropos 
of  his  form-master  : ‘ The  Shark  gives  us  marks  with  decimals, 
and  often  forgets  about  the  decimal  point  when  he  adds  them 
up.  It 's  just  a fluke  where  one  '11  be  in  the  week's  order. 
Sporting,  isn't  it  ? Glorious  uncertainty.  It  makes  Curds 
and  Lenwood  so  sick  that  they  aren't  fit  to  speak  to  on 


64 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


Saturdays.  Horrid  old  Shark  ! He  babbles  in  his  beard 
like  a mad  prophet.  He 's  the  joy  of  my  sad  life/  And 
when  the  Shark  came  to  see  him  he  nearly  killed  Denis  by 
asking  the  master  artless  questions  as  to  the  relative  merits 
of  the  decimal  and  fractional  systems.  The  innocent  Shark 
informed  him  that  he  had  a genius  for  irrelevancy,  and  added 
that  M'Curdy  had  been  top  of  the  Lower  Fifth  for  the  pre- 
ceding week. 

Denis  was  quite  sad  when  he  became  well  enough  to  go 
downstairs  and  sit  in  the  dingy  room  that  was  full  of  bored 
and  rather  dreary  boys.  His  contemporaries  seemed  to  him 
quite  uninteresting,  and  he  read  assiduously  until  the  joyful 
moment  when  he  might  go  upstairs  and  listen  once  more  to 
the  inimitable  Tellier.  Tellier  was  not  only  gay,  he  was 
sympathetic  ; he  actually  realised  that  there  was  something 
interesting  about  this  little,  insignificant  new  boy,  and  he 
made  Denis  tell  him  about  his  early  life,  and  the  moor,  and  the 
shepherds  who  dwelt  in  the  valleys. 

‘ Do  you  believe  in  ghosts  ? ' he  would  ask.  ‘ I do  : I 
mean,  in  ghosts  that  you  can't  see,  not  in  the  ordinary  story- 
book kind  of  rot.  That  place  of  yours  just  gibbers  with 
ghosts,  I know.  You  ought  to  see  the  stones  at  Karnak, 
and  Plouharnel,  and  those  places.  If  you  go  and  look  at 
them  at  sunset  they  make  your  hair  stand  on  end.  When  I 
come  and  stay  with  my  uncle  we  'll  have  enormous  walks 
all  over  your  hills.  But  I don't  know  when  I 'll  come  : I 
hate  going  away  from  my  old  mater  in  the  holidays.  She 
isn't  really  old,  you  know,  she  looks  like  my  sister  ; all  the 
men  here  swore  she  was  when  she  came  to  Speech  Day  last 
term.  Old  Curds  fell  violently  in  love  with  her  ; his  great 
eyes  beamed  whenever  he  saw  her.  Curds's  mater  died  when 
he  was  a kid  * rotten  luck.'  He  would  look  very  serious  for 
a moment,  and  then  he  would  seize  a light  chair  and  attempt 
to  balance  it  on  his  nose  or  his  chin.  He  would  get  it  balanced, 
and  begin  to  count  rapidly  ; then  the  chair  would  fall  with  a 
fearful  crash  on  the  iron  end  of  the  bed,  and  a nurse  would 
rush  in. 

‘ Oh  ! you  again  ? ' she  would  say,  trying  not  to  smile. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


65 

* Ecce  iterum  Crispinus  * Tellier  would  declaim,  rolling  his 
eyes  dramatically,  and  ruffling  his  tawny  mane.  It  was 
impossible  to  be  angry  with  him  ; when  the  doctor  attempted 
it  Tellier  answered  him  with  a kind  of  broken-hearted  courtesy 
and  wagged  his  head  in  despair  at  his  own  sins.  Two  minutes 
later  the  doctor  would  be  plunged  in  an  eager  argument 
about  the  team  for  the  next  foreign  match,  or  the  futility  of 
approaching  a green  with  a cleek  when  the  distance  allowed 
the  use  of  a lofter.  Tellier  contrived,  by  uttering  poignant 
and  persuasive  cries,  to  lure  Miss  Bowman's  new  cat,  a shy 
monster,  into  the  room  ; he  then  adorned  it  with  an  Eton 
collar  and  a pair  of  braces  belonging  to  Denis,  and  sent  it  off, 
as  he  said,  to  promenade  itself  in  the  gay  world.  The  cat, 
bewildered  by  its  unaccustomed  finery,  put  in  a very  smart 
level  hundred  to  the  other  side  of  the  quadrangle,  and  sought 
sanctuary  beneath  the  pulpit  in  chapel ; whence  it  emerged 
an  hour  later  during  evening  service,  to  the  immense  delight 
of  all  beholders. 

So  that  Denis  went  upstairs  every  evening  in  delicious 
expectation  of  some  new  absurdity.  In  spite  of  his  prowess 
with  pillows  and  chairs,  Tellier  was  not  allowed  outside  his 
room,  but  left  his  bed  at  tea-time  and  sat  in  high  state 
before  a fire  warming  hrs  considerable  calves  and  talking  to 
Arbuthnot,  who  generally  came  to  see  him  before  fifth  lesson. 
Denis  would  wait  downstairs  until  Arbuthnot  passed  the  door 
on  his  way  out,  and  then  would  go  up  to  his  room. 

One  afternoon  he  was  making  toast  with  some  other  small 
boys  about  five  o'clock  when  the  doctor  came  in.  He  was  a 
tall  young  man  with  a fair  moustache  and  a quiet  manner, 
and  was  very  much  liked  by  the  School  and  the  Sanatorium 
staff.  He  sat  on  the  table  for  a few  minutes  talking  to  the 
boys,  and  presently  spoke  to  Denis. 

‘ Yorke,'  he  said,  ‘ you  look  quite  w^ell.  You  may  go  away 
from  us  the  day  after  to-morrow,  and  mind  you  don't  come 
back.' 

‘ Oh ! thank  you,  sir,'  said  Denis,  and  knew  that  it  was  his 
duty  to  feel  as  well  as  to  look  pleased.  Yet  his  heart  sank  ; 
when  he  was  back  in  the  inexorable  round  there  would  be 


E 


66 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


no  more  quiet  days  of  reading,  and  no  more  Tellier.  He  felt 
limp  and  inert ; the  prospect  of  monotonous  activity  depressed 
him.  Of  course,  once  outside  the  Sanatorium,  Tellier  would 
not  speak  to  him  ; Tellier  would  be  a god  who  walked  to 
chapel  arm-in-arm  with  the  great  Arbuthnot, — a person 
entirely  different  from  the  amusing  buffoon  with  whom  he 
had  grown  so  intimate.  Of  course  there  was  Lenwood ; 
but  Lenwood,  in  spite  of  his  visit,  still  seemed  horribly 
remote,  and  Denis  felt  that  he  had  nothing  sensible  to  say 
about  the  books  to  their  lender.  Only  the  short  poems  in 
them  had  really  delighted  him — he  had  attempted  to  read 
Sordello  ! — especially  one  in  the  Keats,  an  Ode  to  Autumn 
with  a verse  that  took  you  back  to  the  hills  so  quickly  that 
you  gasped ; a verse  that  was  full  of  twilight,  and  the  noise 
of  full-grown  lambs,  and  the  soft  wind  of  a luminous  evening. 
But  Lenwood  would  probably  laugh  at  him  for  liking  it. 
He  wondered  if  Tellier  would  really  ask  him  to  tea  in  his 
study. 

The  doctor  had  only  just  gone  when  a head  and  a very 
broad  pair  of  shoulders  appeared  in  the  doorway,  and  the 
voice  of  the  mighty  Arbuthnot  was  heard  inquiring  if  Yorke 
was  in  the  room.  Denis  let  fall  the  piece  of  bread  that  he 
was  toasting  and  turned  quickly.  Arbuthnot  beckoned  to 
him  majestically. 

' I want  to  speak  to  you/  he  said.  Denis  followed  him  out 
into  the  passage.  As  soon  as  they  were  far  enough  away  to 
give  the  boys  in  the  room  no  chance  of  hearing,  Arbuthnot 
said : 'You  Ye  still  sleeping  in  Boosey’s  room,  aren’t  you  ? 
Well,  when  you  go  up  to-night,  you  ’re  jolly  well  to  be  careful 
not  to  wake  him  up  if  he ’s  asleep.  Don’t  forget,  whatever 
you  do/ 

Denis  nodded,  looking  very  much  astonished. 

' Is  he  bad  again  ? ’ he  asked. 

Arbuthnot  hesitated  a moment.  Then  he  answered : 
* No.  He ’s  had  bad  news  from  home.  Go  up  as  late  as 
they  ’ll  let  you,  and  if  the  light ’s  down  don’t  turn  it  up.  Go 
to  bed  in  your  clothes  if  you  can’t  undress  quietly.  Good- 
night/ And  the  hero,  who  looked  extremely  gloomy,  de- 


THE  FIRST  ROUND  67 

parted  down  the  passage.  Denis,  on  returning  to  his  tea, 
had  to  undergo  a fusillade  of  question  and  comment. 

‘ What  did  he  want  you  for,  Yorke  ? ' 4 Going  to  play  for 

the  School  on  Saturday  ? ’ * Sorry  you  Ye  liked  by  the 

captain  of  the  Fifteen  ! ' 

But  Denis  refused  stubbornly  to  gratify  them.  His  heart 
was  heavy  with  apprehension.  And  yet,  he  thought,  how 
funny  he  should  feel  like  that  about  a man  whom  he  had  only 
known  for  a few  days,  a senior,  a god  ! He  ate  his  toast, 
which  had  a strong  flavour  of  cinders,  in  silence,  and  so  became 
even  more  interesting  to  the  curious  throng  of  small  boys. 

When,  at  last,  he  went  upstairs  Tellier  was  not  asleep. 
He  was  lying  on  his  back  staring  up  at  the  gas-light ; his 
face  had  a strangely  swollen  appearance,  and  there  were 
great  red  rims  round  his  eyes.  For  a moment  Denis  hardly 
recognised  him,  and  felt  the  beginning  of  a thrill  of  relief 
because  he  had  found  a stranger  in  Tellier's  place.  Then  he 
went  to  his  own  bedside  and  began  to  undress  noiselessly. 

Tellier  never  moved,  but  continued  to  stare  at  the  light 
with  those  dry,  dull  eyes.  Denis  undressed  with  his  back 
turned  towards  him.  He  had  put  on  his  nightshirt  when 
Tellier  suddenly  began  speaking  in  a voice  that  seemed  to 
belong  to  some  one  else.  Denis  shivered,  and  dared  not 
turn  round. 

* Don't  think  me  a beast  for  not  speaking  to  you,  Yorke,' 
he  said.  He  paused,  trying  to  find  his  ordinary  voice.  ‘ The 
fact  is,  I 've  had  awfully  bad  news.  That 's  why.' 

Denis  turned  towards  him,  but  did  not  speak.  After  a 
moment  Tellier's  lips  moved  again. 

‘ My  mater 's  dead,'  he  said.  ‘ I got  the  telegram  just 
before  Arbuthnot  came.' 

Denis  stood  there,  looking  stupidly  at  him.  He  had  a 
picture  of  Tellier's  mother  in  his  head, — a picture  drawn 
from  the  few  things  that  Tellier  had  told  him  about  her. 
She  was  young-looking,  and  gay  and  awfully  alive  like  her 
son,  and  hated  being  away  from  him,  and  her  eyes  were  dark 
and  true  like  the  eyes  of  the  little  girl  her  niece.  And  Tellier 
worshipped  her.  He  was  a creature  apart  at  school,  a kind 


68 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


of  glorious,  irresponsible  vagabond  whom  every  one  liked 
but  no  one  really  understood.  She  had  understood  him,  and 
God  had  killed  her  and  left  Tellier  alone  with  that  look  in  his 
eyes, — like  a wounded  animal, — oh,  so  like  some  poor  beast 
hurt  to  death  ! It  was  horrible.  He  tried  to  speak. 

4 P'raps  it 's  not  true, — the  telegram,'  he  said,  and  then 
hated  himself,  for  Tellier  writhed,  and  uttered  the  croaking 
semblance  of  a laugh. 

4 People  don't  telegraph  like  that  unless  it 's  true,'  he  said. 
4 I know  it ’s  true.  I feel  it.  I wish  to  God  I was  dead  too.' 

Denis  went  to  Tellier 's  bedside  and  stood  there  trying  to 
think  of  some  words  of  comfort.  He  could  find  none,  and 
Tellier  did  not  seem  to  realise  that  he  was  near. 

4 I am  so  awfully  sorry,  Tellier.'  He  blurted  out  the 
sentence  in  a queer,  rattling  voice.  Tellier  moved  his  head 
and  looked  at  him  for  a moment. 

4 Thanks,'  he  said.  4 Turn  the  light  down  a bit,  would 
you  ? ’ 

Denis  obeyed,  and  crawled  into  bed  feeling  utterly  miser- 
able. But  though  he  shut  his  eyes  and  covered  his  head 
with  the  clothes,  he  could  see  nothing  but  that  bruised, 
distorted  face.  It  was  impossible  to  sleep  with  that  so  near 
you. 

After  he  had  lain  there  for  an  hour  that  seemed  to  him 
longer  than  the  most  tedious  night  of  waking,  he  ventured 
to  turn  over  in  bed  and  look.  ...  In  the  dim  light  he  could 
just  see  Tellier  lying  in  exactly  the  same  position,  and  staring, 
staring  at  the  small  blue  flame.  At  the  same  moment  he 
heard  the  sound  of  whispers  in  the  corridor,  and  presently 
the  door  creaked.  Tellier  instantly  shut  his  eyes.  The 
doctor  entered,  treading  very  softly,  followed  by  Miss  Bow- 
man, who  held  her  chatelaine  in  her  hand  to  prevent  it  from 
jangling. 

The  doctor  came  on  tiptoe  to  Tellier’s  bed,  and  bent  over  it. 

4 Thank  Heaven,  he 's  asleep,'  he  said,  very  quietly. 

But  Denis  knew  better.  At  intervals  in  the  night  he 
looked  at  that  motionless  figure,  hoping  on  each  occasion 
to  find  that  the  dreadful  eyes  were  closed  at  last,  but  hoping 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


69 

in  vain  ; and  when  he  awoke  after  a few  hours  of  unrefreshing 
sleep,  he  saw  that  Tellier  was  still  staring  at  the  gas-bracket, 
though  some  one  had  turned  out  the  flame. 

Tellier  did  not  speak  until  the  doctor  came  in  on  his  morning 
round,  and  then  he  said  harshly  and  abruptly  : 'I’m  going 
home  to-day.  Will  you  send  round  to  the  house  for  my 
bag  ? ’ 

The  doctor  put  his  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

‘ My  dear  old  boy,’  he  said,  ‘ it ’s  impossible.  We  can’t 
let  you  go.  Of  course,  we  knew  that  you  would  want  to,  and 
I talked  about  it  to  the  headmaster  and  Mr.  Hinton  last 
night.  But  you  aren’t  fit  to  travel  yet.’  He  paused,  for 
Tellier  was  sitting  up  in  bed  ; his  eyes  were  blazing,  and  he 
gesticulated  like  a madman. 

‘ I ’m  going,’  he  said.  ‘ No  one  will  stop  me,  and  I ’ll  kill 
any  one  who  tries.  You  don’t  know  what  She  was, — what 
friends  we  were.  I ’ll  see  her  ! She  may  not  be  dead  ; it 
may  be  all  a mistake,  people  do  make  mistakes  like  that. 
She  can’t  be  dead, — she  was  as  strong  as  I am  ; we  used  to 
play  tennis  together  all  day.  I tell  you  I will  go ; I ’ll  go  if 
I have  to  set  fire  to  your  damned  Sanatorium  to  get  out  of  it. 
Beasts,  beasts,  to  try  and  stop  me  ! ’ The  doctor  attempted 
to  reason  with  him,  and  then  went  away  in  despair. 

He  continued  to  rave  until  the  matron  came  in.  With 
rather  more  tact  than  usual,  she  contrived  to  soothe  him  with 
promises  that  the  doctor  would  have  another  consultation 
with  the  headmaster  at  once,  and  that  she  would  order  a 
cab  to  be  ready  to  catch  the  mid-day  express  to  London. 
Eventually  it  was  decided  that  he  should  go.  He  said  nothing 
on  hearing  of  the  decision,  and  dressed  and  packed  his  bag 
in  absolute  silence.  The  doctor  and  Denis  saw  him  off  at 
the  Sanatorium  gate,  but  he  said  good-bye  to  neither  of  them. 
Arbuthnot  came  running  to  the  gate  just  as  the  cab  started  ; 
Tellier  did  not  even  look  at  him,  but  sat  staring  straight 
ahead  with  frozen  eyes. 

Thus  miserably  ended  a delightful  occasion,  and  Denis 
plunged  once  more  into  the  giddy  vortex  of  alternate  work 
and  games.  But  he  could  not  forget  Tellier’s  face. 


70 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


VIII 

WHEN  Denis  came  home  for  the  holidays  after  his  first 
term  at  school,  Dr.  Yorke  met  him  at  the  little 
station  that  was  five  miles  from  their  house.  As  the  train 
slowed  down,  Denis  saw  him  standing  on  the  platform,  and 
felt  a momentary  sensation  of  surprise.  How  often  during 
the  term  he  had  thought  of  his  father  until  he  seemed  actually 
to  see  his  face  ! — at  first  with  a bitter  yearning,  for  it  was 
inevitably  part  of  all  the  dear,  homely  things  that  he  had 
left,  and  latterly  with  a calmer  sense  of  deep  affection.  Yet 
when  he  really  saw  his  father  at  last,  that  face  seemed  in 
some  way  different  from  his  dreams  of  it,  not  more  stern, 
not  less  friendly,  but  greyer,  dimmer,  less  alive. 

Dr.  Yorke  shook  his  son's  hand  and  appeared  pleased  to 
see  him,  but  evidently  he  did  not  think  that  the  occasion  was 
so  extraordinarily  important  as  it  seemed  to  Denis.  After 
their  first  greetings  were  finished,  he  said  : 

‘ Have  you  brought  the  parcels  ? You  would  get  my  letter 
by  the  last  post  yesterday.' 

Then  the  exalted  heart  of  Denis  descended  as  a plummet 
sinks  in  deep  seas.  His  face  became  scarlet. 

‘ The  parcels  ? ' he  said. 

Dr.  Yorke  spoke  with  a little  note  of  impatience. 

‘ Oh,  my  dear  boy,  are  you  as  bad  as  ever  at  remembering 
things  ? Do  you  mean  to  say  you 've  forgotten  them  ? I 
underlined  every  word  about  them.  You  must  have  got  the 
letter.' 

Denis  stood  there  looking  the  image  of  misery  ; all  the 
long-expected  joy  of  his  homecoming  was  shattered  in  one 
dreadful  instant.  For  this  is  what  had  happened.  On  the 
previous  evening,  as  he  was  going  out  of  the  house  with 
Lenwood  to  hear  the  Lists  read  in  Big  School,  the  porter 
met  him  and  gave  him  a letter  with  his  father's  writing  on 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


7 1 


the  envelope.  At  that  moment  the  clock  struck  the  hour, 
and  Lenwood,  who  was  anxious  not  to  miss  any  part  of  the 
term's  order,  exhorted  him  to  run.  He  thrust  the  letter  in 
his  pocket,  and  obeyed.  When  they  reached  Big  School  the 
headmaster  had  already  begun  to  speak  ; there  was  no  time 
for  his  letter  then,  and  directly  afterwards  he  had  a dozen 
different  things  to  do  before  chapel.  The  awful  result  of  all 
this  excitement  was  that  he  actually  forgot  all  about  the 
letter  in  his  pocket.  That  fatal  document  contained  in- 
structions for  him  to  inquire  about  some  parcels  which  were 
presumably  lying  in  the  office  at  the  nearest  junction. 

It  was  an  unforgivable  offence,  he  felt,  and  yet  what  very 
bad  luck  ! It  was  mainly  because  he  was  so  keen  to  see  his 
father  that  he  had  left  his  letter  unread,  but  he  could  not 
explain  this  ; he  felt  that  his  father  wouldn't  understand. 

4 I got  the  letter  all  right,'  he  said,  4 but  I 'm  afraid  I didn't 
read  it.'  Then  he  added,  with  the  lack  of  tact  that  is  a 
malady  most  incident  to  nervous  and  truthful  boys,  r I 
was  rather  busy  last  night.’  This  sounded  extremely  feeble, 
and  it  would  certainly  have  been  better  if  he  had  explained 
that  his  soul  was  lost  in  a whirlwind  of  excitement  at  the 
thought  of  returning  home.  Dr  Yorke  stared  at  him  in  blank 
amazement. 

4 You  never  opened  my  letter  ! ' he  said.  4 Denis,  you  can't 
be  speaking  the  truth  ? ' Denis  had  never  in  his  life  told  him 
a lie,  but  Dr.  Yorke  seemed  still  to  live  in  expectation.  The 
boy  groped  in  his  pockets  and  produced  the  unopened  letter. 

4 Here  it  is,'  he  said.  4 I 'm  very  sorry.' 

Dr.  Yorke  frowned. 

4 It 's  not  much  use  being  sorry,  Denis,'  he  said,  with  one 
of  his  sudden  flashes  of  bad  temper  ; 4 and  I must  say  that  if 
this  is  the  way  you  treat  your  father's  letters,  I 'll  take  very 
good  care — I '11  not  take  the  trouble  to  write  as  often  as  I 
have  done.'  Indignation  had  an  effect  on  Dr.  Yorke 
contrary  to  that  which  it  exerted  on  the  Latin  poet)  it 
marred  his  power  of  articulate  utterance. 

Formerly,  Dr.  Yorke's  tirades  against  Denis  had  always 
begun  on  a note  of  wounded  self-pity.  4 No  one  could  have 


72 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


been  a kinder  father  to  you  than  I 've  been,  and  now  you  go 

and * etc.  On  this  occasion,  however,  he  did  not  use 

the  familiar  formula,  and  Denis,  in  the  midst  of  his  contrition, 
was  conscious  of  a sense  of  relief  because  it  was  neglected. 
It  was  scarcely  the  kind  of  remark  that  one  wished  people  to 
overhear  in  a public  place. 

‘ I particularly  wanted  those  parcels/  said  Dr.  Yorke  ; 
and  then,  in  the  same  injured  voice,  he  went  off  into  a long 
and  elaborate  explanation  of  the  reason  why  the  parcels 
were  so  necessary.  Denis  sat  by  his  side  in  the  cart,  and  felt 
that  this  return  was  a dismal  failure.  What  an  idiot  he  had 
been  about  that  wretched  letter  ! Yet,  if  his  father  had  ever 
been  at  a public  school  on  the  last  night  of  term,  would  he 
not  realise  that  there  was  some  excuse  ? 

As  they  drove  on,  the  well-known  face  of  his  beloved  hills 
became  more  and  more  clear.  They  at  least  were  true  to 
his  memory  of  them  ; there  was  no  hint  of  change  in  their 
lonely  comfort ; each  detail  that  became  plain  had  a 
responsive  thrill  of  recognition  in  his  heart.  The  village  was 
in  sight  when  his  father  broke  the  silence  that  followed  his 
lamentations  over  the  parcels  to  ask  Denis  if  he  ‘ liked 
school.'  Denis  answered  with  a rather  unemphatic  affirma- 
tive. 

4 Have  you  made  many  friends  ? ’ asked  Dr.  Yorke. 

‘ No,  not  many/  said  Denis.  ‘ Hardly  any.  But  there  are 
two  fellows  I like.  Their  names  are  Lenwood  and  Tellier. 
I told  you  about  them  in  my  letters.' 

‘ That  is  one  of  the  things  I want  to  speak  to  you  about,' 
said  his  father.  ‘ They  may  be  nice  fellows,  but  they  are 
both  much  older  than  you.  I want  you  to  find  your  friends 
amongst  the  boys  of  your  own  age.  I wrote  to  Mr.  Lister 
asking  him  to  see  about  this,  but,  curiously  enough,  he  hasn't 
answered  my  letter.' 

Denis  had  a vision  of  Mr.  Lister  carefully  arranging  all  the 
friendships  in  the  house.  ‘ Now,  Yorke,  my  person,  there 's 
Ellerton-Davidson,  just  you  go  and  be  friends  with  him. 
All  very  well,  my  young  ruffian  ; but  boys  who  speak  to  people 
older  than  themselves  will  write  out  the  lesson.'  He  smiled 


THE  FIRST  ROUND  73 

at  this  absurd  idea.  Dr.  Yorke  saw  the  smile  and  did  not 
understand  it. 

‘ Age  doesn't  seem  to  matter  much  at  school,'  said  Denis : 
‘ men  not  much  older  than  I am,  who  are  awfully  good  at 
games,  are  friends  with  men  in  the  Fifteen  and  the  Sixth. 
But  Lenwood  isn’t  really  a great  friend  ; he  lends  me  books, 
that ’s  all.  He ’s  clever.  Tellier  and  I were  in  the  same 
room  at  the  Sanatorium,  but  I don’t  suppose  he  ’ll  speak  to 
me  next  term.  He ’s  in  the  Fifteen,  and  no  end  of  a god.’ 

‘ No  end  of  a what  ? ’ asked  Dr.  Yorke. 

* A god, — an  important  kind  of  person,’  explained  Denis. 

‘ Oh  ! ’ said  Dr.  Yorke.  ‘ I don’t  care  much  for  that 
expression,  Denis.  What  sort  of  books  does  that  other  fellow 
lend  you  ? ’ 

4 Mostly  poetry,’  said  Denis.  His  father  was  silent  for  a 
moment. 

‘ I don’t  want  you  to  read  much  of  that  kind  of  thing,’ 
he  said  at  length.  ‘ Poetry  is  meant  for  older  people  ; it ’s 
a consolation  for  them.’  Dr  Yorke’s  excursions  amongst 
poetry  were  limited  to  the  verse  in  the  Spectator.  ‘ You  have 
your  school  work,  and  that  ought  to  give  you  enough  reading. 
I expect  that  is  why  you  don’t  make  friends, — because  you  ’re 
always  reading.  One  of  the  reasons  why  I sent  you  to  school 
is  that  I want  you  to  meet  nice  fellows,  who  will  be  friends  to 
you  all  your  life, — open,  manly  boys  like  Bob  Challoner.  Why, 
men  come  and  stay  with  Mr.  Searle  who  were  at  school  with 
him  five-and-twenty  years  ago.  You  can  make  friends  if 
you  like  ; you  mustn’t  sit  apart  and  mope.’ 

Denis  felt  chilled  ; this  was  an  unjust  description  of  his 
life  at  school,  yet  it  had  a tiny  hint  of  truth.  He  was  painfully 
conscious  of  being  a very  disappointing  kind  of  son.  When 
his  father  asked  him  questions  about  football,  he  replied 
in  a listless  way  that  showed  how  little  interest  the  game 
possessed  for  him,  and  he  did  not  think  it  worth  while  to 
announce  that  he  had  become  good  at  gymnastics  : the 
School  attached  no  particular  importance  to  that  accomplish- 
ment, and  his  father’s  point  of  view  seemed  to  be  exactly  that 
of  the  School.  Dimly  he  began  to  understand  that  Dr. 


74 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


Yorke  had  a fixed  idea  that  he  was  not  entering  whole- 
heartedly into  the  spirit  of  his  new  life  ; yet  after  all,  though 
he  took  no  pleasure  in  the  company  of  his  contemporaries, 
he  had  worked  hard,  had  earned  a certain  distinction  at  play, 
and  had  found  a new  and  absorbing  interest.  Life  was 
becoming  more  and  more  interesting  to  him,  and  was  not  that 
happiness?  Yes,  if  you  were  happily  interested  in  things, 
was  it  fair  to  accuse  you  of  moping  sulkily  ? He  felt  that  he 
might  have  explained  all  this  to  his  father,  but  he  shrank 
from  the  effort.  His  father  had  got  that  idea  into  his  head, 
and  to  drive  it  out  would  need  a force  of  which  he  did  not  at 
that  moment  feel  capable.  As  is  the  case  with  many  hyper- 
sensitive natures,  a mental  reverse  of  any  kind  made  Denis 
apathetic. 

The  drive  ended  in  silence.  Dr.  Yorke's  face  wore  a 
worried  expression  which  was  out  of  all  proportion  to  what  he 
really  endured  ; he  assumed  it  (though  he  would  have  utterly 
refused  to  believe  this  if  any  one  had  hinted  of  it)'  because 
he  felt  that  Denis  ‘ wanted  a lesson  ’ ; and  Denis  stared  at 
the  hills  with  eyes  that  a casual  observer  might  have  called 
obstinate.  He  was  really  angry  with  himself  for  being  at 
cross-purposes  with  his  father,  who,  of  course,  loved  him  and 
was  anxious  about  him.  That  abominable  letter — his  own 
folly — had  spoiled  everything.  If  that  had  never  happened 
he  knew  that  he  could  have  met  his  father  with  words  which 
Dr.  Yorke  would  have  thought  perfectly  appropriate,  that 
he  could  have  been  enthusiastic  about  school.  Those  detest- 
able parcels  ! Yet  would  the  words,  the  enthusiasm,  have 
been  sincere  ? 

In  spite  of  this  depressing  incident,  Denis  felt  a real  pleasure 
when  he  entered  the  Red  House.  It  seemed  smaller  than  he 
had  imagined,  but  its  dark  panelled  rooms  were  very  warm 
and  homely  and  peaceful  after  the  noisy  form-room  and  the 
long  bare  dormitory.  When  he  opened  the  piano  he  felt  as 
if  he  were  shaking  hands  with  an  old  friend  ; the  portraits 
on  the  walls — mediocre  works  in  the  manner  of  Lawrence — 
looked  down  on  him  benignantly,  and  the  bust  of  a distin- 
guished physician  in  a full-bottomed  wig  seemed  thoroughly 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


75 


pleased  to  meet  him  again.  It  was  good  to  think  that  you 
need  do  nothing  for  a month  but  play  music,  and  walk  on 
the  moor,  and  lie  in  a chair  by  the  fire  thinking  your  own 
entrancing  thoughts.  At  least,  it  would  have  been  good  if 
it  wasn't  for  what  had  happened  to  Tellier.  That  was  like 
poison  in  the  wine  of  delightful  dreams.  You  couldn't  forget 
that  miserable,  distorted  face  and  those  eyes,  those  eyes.  . . . 

Early  in  the  following  afternoon  be  began  to  ascend  the 
stony  track  that  led  upwards  to  the  moor.  The  sky  was 
inky  with  the  promise  of  snow,  and  the  great  wind  of  the  north 
hummed  an  Arctic  song  in  his  tingling  ears.  The  sound 
filled  him  with  extraordinary  delight ; he  thrust  his  cap  in 
his  pocket  and  ran  bareheaded  until  he  reached  the  old  quarry 
with  its  dilapidated  hut.  There,  sheltered  from  the  wind, 
he  paused.  His  face  was  flushed  and  his  heart  was  beating 
violently  ; this,  he  thought,  was  to  be  alive  at  last,  after 
three  months'  existence  as  quite  another  sort  of  creature  ; 
this  was  freedom  that  one  could  feel  in  one's  blood  ; life  that 
seized  one  by  the  throat  and  became  a fire  that  burned  through 
all  one's  limbs  ! He  began  to  walk  rapidly  to  and  fro  across 
the  moist  arena  of  the  quarry,  and  as  he  did  so  he  found  a 
strange  pleasure  in  recalling  every  detail  of  the  evening  when 
he  had  last  visited  it : the  rain,  the  pools  on  the  ground,  the 
little  girl,  and  the  heaviness  of  foreboding  that  weighed  down 
his  heart.  The  future  had  seemed  to  him  then  like  a black 
and  sinister  mountain  through  which  he  would  have  to  dig 
his  way  unaided, — and  yet  how  easy  it  had  been,  after  all, 
that  subterranean  journey ! Nothing  had  altered  in  this 
haunt  of  peace,  and  he  himself  was  there,  unchanged,  except 
that  his  heart  had  grown  wonderfully  lighter. 

He  remembered  the  silver  pencil-case  that  he  had  hidden 
amongst  the  stones  of  the  hut,  and  was  able  to  find  it  after  a 
brief  search.  He  stood  looking  at  the  tarnished  metal  for 
some  moments.  After  all,  he  had  altered  ; he  would  not  do 
such  a childish  thing  now.  Yet  he  felt  a queer  satisfaction 
in  its  discovery  ; as  if  he  had  performed  a certain  ritual  that 
was  the  official  symbol  of  his  return.  He  remained  in  the 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


76 

quarry  for  a long  time  ; at  the  bottom  of  his  heart  there 
lurked  an  absurd  hope  that  the  little  girl  with  the  pigtail 
would  appear.  If  she  came,  he  felt,  the  memory  of  that 
term  at  school  would  become  even  more  dim ; he  would  be 
absolutely  his  old  self  again.  Yet  it  was  worth  having  gone 
through  the  term  when  it  was  the  cause  of  one’s  meeting 
Tellier.  Poor  Tellier ! But  how  jolly  to  think  that  he  was 
the  little  girl’s  cousin  ! 

After  a while  he  climbed  past  the  gnarled  thorn-trees  that 
sang  like  harps  in  the  wind,  and  emerged  on  the  grim  level 
of  the  moor.  The  force  of  the  gale  took  away  his  breath  ; 
the  great  guns  of  the  storm  were  beginning  to  thunder,  and 
flying  squadrons  of  dark  cloud  with  torn  white  edges  rolled 
southward  like  navies  rent  in  some  tremendous  conflict. 
The  small  dry  flakes  that  were  the  heralds  of  a great  snowfall 
swooped  at  his  face  as  if  they  were  angry  live  things.  Blink- 
ing and  staggering,  he  leant  against  the  wind  until  his  hair 
seemed  to  sing  like  the  thorn-trees.  For  a moment  there 
would  be  a lull,  and  then  it  was  as  if  all  the  air  in  the  world 
came  across  the  moor  in  a succession  of  gigantic  volleys  ; 
a copper  light  glared  angrily  near  the  horizon,  and  disappeared 
as  the  huge  flakes  began  to  swirl  down,  in  curves,  in  zigzags, 
in  interlaced  spirals,  in  lovely  columns  that  wavered  and 
broke  into  a thousand  dazzling  flowers. 

He  struggled  on  in  blind  and  breathless  happiness  for  two 
miles,  and  then  he  turned.  This  was  the  moment  of  moments  ; 
the  wind  set  two  gigantic  hands  against  your  back  and 
thrust  you  along  till  you  felt  as  light  and  helpless  as  a snow- 
flake, and  you  could  hear  all  that  it  was  singing  far  more 
clearly  than  when  you  strove  against  it.  Sometimes  its 
voice  was  high  and  shrill,  and  full  of  wailing,  and  I’s  and  E’s, 
but  to-day  it  boomed  and  bellowed,  and  shouted  words  like 
the  Greek  that  Denis  was  just  beginning  to  learn, — Greek  that, 
even  if  you  only  knew  the  meaning  of  a few  words,  gave  you 
wonderful  visions  of  hoary  rocks  and  purple  seas,  and  the 
long  line  of  cranes  sharply  silhouetted  against  the  winter  sky. 

That  was  the  kind  of  language  talked  by  the  wind  ; a 
tongue  full  of  glorious  thunder.  And  it  told  you  tales  of 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


77 


Lapland  witches  who  sailed  at  midnight  in  sieves  across 
a luminous  and  mystic  sea,  and  of  snow-pale  princesses 
enthroned  in  dazzling  palaces  of  ice, — white  princesses 
crowned  with  diamonds,  who  drove  in  sleighs  drawn  by 
mighty  reindeer  with  bells  on  their  harness  that  echoed  down 
the  glaciers  ; but  the  princesses  were  lonely,  and  pined  away 
because  they  could  never  find  the  path  that  led  to  the  warm 
world. 

It  was  dark  when  he  reached  home.  He  was  covered  with 
snow,  extremely  tired,  and  amazingly  happy.  When  he  had 
shut  the  hall  door  his  father  came  out  of  the  study. 

‘ You  must  be  mad  to  stay  out  on  a night  like  this,  Denis/ 
he  said.  ‘ Where  on  earth  have  you  been  ? ' 

Denis  explained. 

‘ I ’m  very  anxious  that  you  should  have  proper  exercise/ 
said  his  father  ; ‘ but  that  doesn’t  mean  that  I want  you  to 
rush  about  in  a snowstorm.  I wish  you  would  try  and 
cultivate  a little  commonsense.  What  were  you  doing  on  the 
moor  ? ’ 

‘ Oh,  thinking/  answered  Denis. 

* Thinking  ! ’ echoed  Dr.  Yorke.  ‘ Do  you  mean  to  tell 
me  that  you  go  up  there  on  a day  like  this  to  think  ? ’ He 
began  to  wonder  if  Denis  had  acquired  a taste  for  cigarettes. 

‘ Is  that  true  ? 9 he  demanded,  frowning. 

‘ Well,  not  exactly  thinking/  said  Denis  ; ‘ making  up  sort 

of  stories.  The  wind  up  there ’ he  paused.  It  was 

hopeless  to  try  and  explain.  He  began  to  rub  his  boots  on 
the  mat. 

‘ I wish  you  would  try  to  be  sensible,  Denis/  said  Dr. 
Yorke,  and  went  into  the  study.  Denis  continued  the  dream 
of  Lapland  witches  whilst  he  took  off  his  boots. 


78 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


IX 

ON  Christmas  Day  his  father  gave  him  a cricket-bat, 
and  Gabriel  Searle  sent  him  Palgrave’s  Golden 
Treasury  and  Schubert's  Klavier-Compositionen.  As  he  sat 
in  church  he  looked  about,  I am  afraid,  for  the  little  girl  and 
her  enormous  father,  but  in  vain.  On  the  way  home  he  asked 
Dr.  Yorke  why  they  were  not  there. 

* For  the  very  good  reason/  said  Dr.  Yorke,  ‘ or,  rather, 
for  the  very  bad  reason,  that  they  are  Roman  Catholics.' 
He  acknowledged  the  greetings  of  a group  of  men  at  the 
corner  of  the  churchyard,  and  continued  : 4 That 's  partly 
why  I don't  want  you  to  see  much  of  the  little  girl,  however 
nice  she  is.  . . . Those  people  are  never  quite  the  same. 
There 's  always  something  underhand  about  them, — a sort 
of  cunning.  Is  that  boy  at  school  a Roman  Catholic  ? ' 

1 Tellier  ? ' said  Denis.  ' No,  not  that  I know  of.  He  goes 
to  chapel  like  every  one  else.' 

1 Oh,’  said  Dr.  Yorke.  ‘ Well,  if  ever  you  meet  Mr.  Duroy, 
and  he  says  anything  about  that  kind  of  thing  to  you,  you  're 
to  tell  me  at  once.'  And  with  this  injunction  Dr.  Yorke 
dropped  the  subject,  and  they  went  home  to  an  Anglican 
dinner  of  turkey  and  plum-pudding  beneath  walls  that  were 
adorned  with  Protestant  mistletoe  and  holly. 

A day  or  two  afterwards  Denis  received  a note,  written  in 
characters  which  rather  resembled  an  irregular  series  of 
old-fashioned  croquet-hoops,  inviting  him  to  come  to  tea  at 
a cottage  which  was  called  Parnasse,  and  signed  with  the 
name  of  Rosalind  Duroy.  There  was  a postscript  which 
said  : 'Noel  has  written  about  how  kind  you  were  to  him  at 
school,'  and  this  made  Denis  laugh.  Noel,  of  course,  was 
Tellier  • as  if  he  could  be  kind  to  Tellier,  the  universally 
beloved,  the  god  (as  Dr.  Yorke  wouldn't  have  said),  the  friend 
of  Arbuthnot  ! 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


79 


Denis  handed  the  letter  to  Dr.  Yorke,  who  read  it,  frowned, 
and  remarked,  ‘ I don't  know  that  I want  you  to  go,  Denis.' 

Denis  began  to  look  very  much  disappointed,  and  Gabriel 
Searle,  who  was  staying  for  a night  at  the  Red  House,  smiled 
wearily  and  took  his  part. 

* My  dear  Yorke,  they  won't  eat  the  boy,'  he  said.  * I 
never  met  any  one  less  likely  to  proselytise  than  Duroy  ; 
he  cares  for  nothing  but  art  and  polite  conversation  ; and  I 
don't  think  that  nice  little  girl  is  going  to  lasso  Denis  with 
her  long  pigtail  and  drag  him  down  to  perdition.'  For  Dr. 
Yorke  had  confided  his  religious  fears  to  Gabriel. 

Wilmot  Yorke  grew  rather  red,  fidgeted  about  the  room, 
and  displaced  furniture.  Then  he  looked  at  Searle  with  a 
worried  smile  and  said  : 1 I suppose  it 's  all  right,  though  I 
must  say  I don't  like  that  type  of  man.  He 's  altogether  too 
florid, — too  ebullient ; hasn't  an  atom  of  reserve.  I 've 
noticed  amongst  patients  that  people  who  haven't  reserve 
are  always  lacking  in  self-respect.  Well,  you  can  go  this 
time,  Denis,  but  remember  what  I told  you.' 

* Oh,  nonsense,'  said  Searle,  rather  impatiently ; ‘ it 's 

good  for  Denis  to  go  into  society.  They  're  absolutely 
delightful  people.'  He  looked  at  Denis,  who  had  apparently 
fallen  into  a trance.  Searle  noticed  again  the  firm  lines 
that  invaded  the  boy's  face  when  he  was  thinking,  and 
wondered  what  particular  thought  was  at  that  moment 
responsible  for  them.  He  leant  forward. 

* Denis,  what  are  you  dreaming  of  ? ' he  asked  quickly. 

Denis  looked  up  and  smiled. 

‘ I was  wondering  what  “ ebullient  " means,'  he  answered. 
Whatever  it  meant,  he  thought  its  actual  sound  seemed  to 
make  it  applicable  to  the  people  whom  his  father  distrusted 
and  he  liked.  It  would  apply,  he  knew,  to  Tellier  * yes, 
Tellier  certainly  ebulled.  Was  it  the  grown-up  way  of 
expressing  the  strange  quality  that  always  attracted  him  so 
irresistibly — the  quality  that  was  not  all  vigour,  not  all 
gaiety,  not  all  independence,  but  a mixture  of  these  with 
something  large  and  generous  added  ? He  could  not  define 
it,  but  when  it  was  near  he  seemed  actually  to  feel  its  presence 


8o 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


all  round  him.  His  father,  apparently,  felt  it  also,  and 
disliked  the  sensation  extremely. 

He  had  not  to  be  in  the  hospitable  precinct  of  Parnasse 
for  more  than  ten  minutes  in  order  to  feel  more  bewildered 
than  ever  by  his  father's  attitude.  How  could  any  one 
dislike  these  kindly  people  whose  eyes  were  always  smiling 
at  you,  who  talked  jolly  nonsense  to  each  other,  and  made 
you  feel  in  a moment  that  you  were  a friend,  and  not  a kind 
of  strange  beast  on  probation  in  a dreary  drawing-room  ? 
The  little  girl  had  run  down  the  garden  path  to  meet  him,  and 
the  big  man  had  thrust  his  red  face  out  of  an  upper  window, 
like  a giant  in  a fairy  tale,  and  shouted  a tremendous  welcome. 
They  had  led  him  upstairs  into  a long  attic  where  there  was 
a huge  fire  of  logs,  and  a grand  piano,  and  musical  instruments 
of  all  shapes  and  sizes,  and  a tapestry  with  knights  in  purple 
armour  rushing  gloriously  towards  fire-breathing  dragons 
with  red  tongues,  and  pictures  finished  and  unfinished,  and  a 
white  poodle  with  the  temperament  of  an  archangel,  and 
swords  and  books  and  meerschaum  pipes,  and  majolica 
drug-pots  and  a soul-entrancing  odour  of  paint  and  tobacco. 
For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  enjoyed  the  sensation  of  being 
a highly  honoured  guest ; he  sat  in  a huge  chair  of  carved 
oak,  lately  the  property,  as  Mr.  Duroy  informed  him,  of 
the  venerable  and  never-sufhciently-to-be-regretted  Cardinal 
Rospiglioso — a prince  of  the  Church  who  had  obviously 
possessed,  amongst  other  advantages,  longer  legs  than 
Denis, — and  Rosalind  curled  up  on  a huge  cushion  at  his 
feet,  whilst  Mr.  Duroy  sat  on  the  lid  of  the  piano,  and  talked 
to  him  with  great  waving  of  large  plump  hands.  Oh  ! you 
couldn't  possibly  dislike  them  ! You  couldn't  even  feel  shy 
after  the  first  minute  in  their  company  ; there  was  something 
in  their  quick  way  of  talking  and  looking  at  you  that  killed 
all  dullness  and  self-consciousness,  and  the  great  room  was  like 
a fairy  palace  where  you  became  a freer,  finer  personage,  and 
forgot  all  about  vicars'  wives  and  daughters  and  the  loneliness 
of  the  Red  House  and  of  school. 

They  talked  about  school,  of  course,  but  they  did  not  seem 
nearly  so  much  interested  in  all  that  happened  there  as  in 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


81 


his  own  particular  feeling  for  the  place.  They  were  greatly 
surprised  to  hear  that  Tellier  was  a famous  athlete  and  a 
person  set  in  authority  ; Noel,  they  said,  had  never  spoken 
of  his  own  prowess  ; and  Denis  thought  that  this  was  un- 
expected and  strange,  and  quite  characteristic  of  Tellier. 
Wonderful  legends  were  told  of  his  youth  ; how  he  had 
travelled  everywhere  with  his  mother  in  France  and  Italy, 
Germany  and  Spain,  a cherubic  creature  with  bare  legs,  the 
face  of  a Donatello  angel,  and  a transcendent  genius  for 
mischief,  the  scourge  of  Europe  and  European  hotels  ; how 
he  was  lost  for  a whole  day  in  Rome,  and  discovered  in 
Trastevere  playing  some  game  of  chance  with  highly  obscure 
rules  amongst  a pack  of  ruffians  who  could  have  carved  him 
in  small  shreds  as  calmly  as  ordinary  mortals  cut  up  a salad  ; 
how  he  was  arrested  in  quite  impregnable  fortresses,  where  it 
was  his  habit  to  appear  suddenly  with  a small  cardboard 
box  painted  to  resemble  a photographic  camera  ; playing 
the  part,  everywhere,  of  a small  Panurge,  but  without  any  of 
the  heartless  malice  that  was  an  unfortunate  defect  in  the 
character  of  that  hero.  Now,  of  course,  he  was  quite  different; 
he  seemed  to  have  grown  old  in  a few  days,  had  spoken  to  no 
one,  and  hardly  touched  food  for  a week  after  his  mother's 
death.  It  was  probable  that  he  would  come  to  live  with  his 
uncle  and  cousin,  for  all  his  other  relations  were  in  France. 
This  was  a noble  piece  of  news  for  Denis,  but  it  was  spoilt 
by  an  intimation  from  Mr.  Duroy,  that  as  soon  as  Noel  had 
finished  his  schooldays  they  would  all  depart  to  France  and 
never  come  back  any  more. 

4 You  11  go  away  for  good  ? ' cried  Denis. 

4 Pour  le  bon , as  you  say,'  answered  Mr.  Duroy.  Rosalind 
looked  at  Denis  with  her  dark  eyes,  that  were  rather  long  and 
narrow,  and  yet  quite  frank  and  sympathetic. 

4 Why  do  you  say  that  ? ' she  asked.  4 Do  you  like 
us  ? * 

4 Be  silent,  Mr.  Denis,  and  spare  our  mantling  blushes/ 
said  her  father.  4 Women,  as  you  have  doubtless  observed, 
are  superb  anglers  for  compliments.  This  lady,  though  you 
mightn't  think  it,  is  a painter,  and  if  you  want  to  be  a painter 

F 


82  THE  FIRST  ROUND 

of  real  pictures  and  not  a decorator  of  Piccadilly  walls,  you 
must  go  to  Paris.  ' 

‘ But  we  shall  come  back/  said  Rosalind ; ‘ and  while 
we  're  there  you  will  come  and  stay  with  us.  We  like  you 
better  than  all  boys  except  Noel.  I can  tell  from  your  face 
that  you  don't  kill  birds  and  things.  Nor  does  Noel.'  She 
looked  at  him  solemnly.  Denis  was  greatly  amused  by  her 
air  of  wisdom. 

‘ How  do  you  know  that  ? ' he  asked. 

4 Because  I 'm  a witch,'  she  said,  ‘ a witch  and  a wizard.' 
She  placed  her  arms  on  his  knees  and,  resting  her  chin  on  her 
little  clenched  fists,  continued  to  stare  at  him.  Then  she 
turned  to  her  father. 

4 Do  you  know,  daddy,'  she  said  very  gravely,  ‘ he 's  got 
quite  a French  nose  in  spite  of  the  Apostle  of  Respectability.' 
And  whilst  Mr.  Duroy  was  bewailing  his  fate  in  possessing 
such  a daughter,  and  comparing  her  unfavourably  with 
Gonerils  and  Regans  and  serpents'  teeth,  she  extended  a 
sudden  and  snake-like  arm  and  stroked  the  ornament  in 
question. 

4 You  don't  mind  my  calling  him  that,  do  you  ? ' she 
demanded. 

‘ No,  not  if  you  want  to,'  Denis  answered,  and  then  he  felt 
a guilty  pang  near  the  lowest  button  of  his  waistcoat.  He 
had  already  realised  that  these  dear,  absurd  people  inhabited 
a world  which  was  contrary,  if  not  absolutely  hostile,  to  the 
one  where  he  had  always  lived  ; and  now  he  had  joined  the 
enemy,  and  was  actually  encouraging  one  of  them  to  laugh 
at  his  father  ! Had  he  become  a mere  time-server  and 
traitor  ? Fortunately,  the  voice  of  his  conscience  and  the 
questions  of  Rosalind  were  interrupted  by  Mr.  Duroy,  who 
flung  open  the  piano  and  struck  some  immense  and  snarling 
chords. 

‘ Do  you  like  our  piano  ? ' he  asked.  ‘ It 's  supposed  to 
be  a Bechstein,  but  Rosalind  says  that  when  I play  on  it  she 
knows  that  it  is  really  a Maxim-Nordenfeldt  or  a Hotchkiss.' 
He  began  to  play  the  most  brilliant  of  Schumann’s  Noveletten, 
swaying  his  large  body  from  side  to  side  and  smiling  blandly 


THE  FIRST  ROUND  83 

at  Denis ; then  he  stopped  abruptly  in  the  middle  of  a 
clamorous  cascade  of  notes  and  sprang  up. 

‘ Tea  ! ’ he  cried,  ‘ tea  ! 9 He  left  the  piano,  and  going 
to  a table  in  the  corner  of  the  studio,  took  up  a long  instrument 
with  silver  keys  and  a curved  mouthpiece  like  that  of  a pipe. 
He  opened  the  door,  stood  at  the  top  of  the  staircase,  and 
played  a few  notes.  Instantly  a cry  of  ‘ Bien,  M’sieu  ’ came 
up  from  below.  He  returned  to  the  studio  and  put  away 
the  instrument. 

‘ A cor  inglese  9 he  explained  to  Denis  ; ‘ the  horns  of 
England  faintly  blowing, — most  appropriate,  you  will  observe, 
as  a summons  for  the  national  beverage.  The  tune  that  I 
played  is,  of  course,  the  potion  motif  from  the  first  act  of 
Tristan . And  here  comes  Brangane  with  her  deadly 
brewage  ! ’ For  the  door  had  opened  and  a stout,  jolly, 
rosy-cheeked  Frenchwoman  entered  with  a huge  tray, 
which  she  carried  majestically  to  a table  near  the  fireplace. 
When  she  had  set  it  down  she  returned  to  the  door,  smiling, 
with  her  head  thrown  back  and  her  arms  straight  and  stiff 
at  her  side,  like  a well-drilled  female  grenadier.  It  did  one 
good  to  look  at  her,  Denis  thought,  she  was  so  large  and  kind, 
and  her  white  apron  was  so  absolutely  radiant.  Very  soon 
she  returned  with  another  tray  that  was  laden  with  amazing 
delicacies, — eclairs , mille-feuilles,  babas , — au  rhum , I fear, — 
and  conical  wafer-cakes  which  were  almost  tantalising  in 
their  elusiveness,  like  the  food  that  hungry  men  eat  in  their 
dreams.  The  creator  of  these  marvels  beamed  at  her 
fortunate  patrons,  thanked  them,  apparently,  for  being  so 
good  as  to  allow  her  to  exercise  her  art  on  their  behalf,  and 
retired,  with  an  additional  smile  for  Denis. 

It  was  the  kind  of  tea  that  you  remember  at  school  when 
your  pocket-money  has  all  gone,  and  the  butter  provided 
by  the  authorities  has  a flavour  of  cheese.  But  even  the 
exquisite  triumphs  of  Marie,  and  the  tea  with  thick  cream  in 
large  white  and  blue  cups,  would  have  been  nothing  without 
Mr.  Duroy  and  Rosalind.  The  host  did  not  follow  the 
fashion  of  Englishmen,  who  watch  with  a forced  smile  of 
indulgent  pity  the  powers  of  youthful  appetite  ; he  ate  more 


84 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


cakes  than  any  one,  and  never  ceased  to  laugh  and  talk, 
telling  Denis  stories  of  life  at  his  French  Lycee,  a place  like 
a penitentiary,  where  you  wore  a uniform  and  were  watched 
continually  by  pions  through  a slit  in  the  door,  and  had  a 
good  time,  all  the  same. 

As  for  Rosalind,  she  really  upset  all  his  theories  on  the 
subject  of  little  girls.  With  her  pigtail,  her  plaid  frock  with 
a black  leather  belt,  which  ought  to  have  been  ugly,  but 
somehow  wasn't,  her  funny  straight  nose  with  its  freckles, 
and  her  great  dark  eyes  with  their  long  curved  eyelashes, 
she  seemed  to  Denis  the  most  remarkable  person  that  he  had 
ever  encountered.  She  had  a queer  habit  of  watching  you 
very  earnestly  when  you  were  talking,  staring  at  you  with 
parted  lips  that  gave  you  a glimpse  of  two  rows  of  small 
white  teeth,  and  then,  if  she  was  interested  in  anything  you 
said,  you  could  see  a light  growing  and  growing  in  her  eyes, 
like  the  lamp  of  a diver  who  steadily  rises  towards  the  surface 
of  a sombre  lake.  Her  laughter  was  quiet  and  mellow,  and 
curiously  like  that  of  her  father  ; she  never  seemed  to  grow 
excited  or  to  scream.  Denis  found  her  delightful,  but  she 
puzzled  him  ; beneath  all  her  dainty  and  amusing  ways 
there  was  a strange  something  in  reserve,  he  thought  * a 
premature  wisdom,  a kind  of  self-confidence  which  wasn't 
conceit ; and  this  made  him  at  moments  think  of  Mr.  Duroy 
as  her  younger  brother  who  had  grown  ridiculously  large. 
But  in  spite  of  this  mysterious  quality  she  ate  a great  number 
of  cakes,  and  laughed  at  her  father,  and  looked  at  Denis  with 
deep  affection,  and  lost  both  her  shoes  under  the  table,  so 
that  Denis  had  to  crawl  on  the  thick  carpet  to  rescue  them 
from  the  angelic  poodle,  and  made  several  futile  efforts  to 
put  them  on  toes  which  wriggled  like  the  tail  of  an  agitated 
chrysalis.  Whilst  he  was  crawling  he  heard  Rosalind  say 
to  her  father,  ‘ Daddy,  he  likes  us  ! ' in  a tone  of  intense 
conviction.  This,  too,  seemed  strange  to  him  when  he 
thought  it  over  on  his  way  home.  Most  little  girls,  he  felt, 
would  have  said,  ‘ I like  him,'  or  ‘ I think  he 's  horrid  ! ' 

After  tea  they  sat  round  the  fire  in  chairs  that  seemed  to 
Denis  three  couches  of  cloud.  Mr.  Duroy  smoked  an  immense 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


85 

meerschaum  pipe  and  strummed  an  ancient  lute,  a lovely 
heart-shaped  thing  full  of  faint  sweetness,  that  made  you 
think  of  faded  roses  and  wistful  people  who  walked  very 
softly  at  dusk  in  dim  gardens  where  dying  flowers  breathed 
out  their  ultimate  sweetness.  Presently  he  put  down  his 
pipe  and  began  to  sing  very  softly.  It  was  French  that  he 
sang,  but  though  Denis  had  only  a slight  and  chilly  acquaint- 
ance with  the  grammar  of  that  language,  he  did  not  need  any 
explanation  of  the  text.  The  first  note  of  that  heavenly 
voice  sent  the  familiar  cold  thrill  down  the  back  of  his  neck  ; 
he  closed  his  eyes,  and  all  his  body  seemed  to  drink  in  the 
beauty  of  those  almost  whispered  words.  The  voice  was 
like  the  murmur  of  a calm  sea  at  night,  so  soft,  so  sustained, 
yet  with  such  a great  reserve  of  strength, — the  whole  vast 
ocean  behind  its  tiny  line  of  vocal  water  ! And  also,  it 
reminded  him  of  Rosalind  ; of  the  something  that  lay  beneath 
her  gentleness  and  pretty,  gay  gestures  ; she  seemed  to  be 
in  some  strange  way  the  living  embodiment  of  her  father's 
music.  He  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  at  her.  She  was 
almost  lost  in  the  depths  of  a great  chair, — sitting  in  a 
highly  unconventional  attitude,  with  one  foot  swinging  very 
slowly  and  the  other  tucked  away  beneath  a knee.  Her 
face  was  in  deep  shadow,  but  he  could  just  see  the  gleam  in 
her  dark  eyes,  and  knew,  somehow,  that  the  music  made  her 
feel  what  he  felt.  He  looked  away  swiftly,  turning  towards 
the  singer. 

Et  sHl  revenait  un  jour 
Que  faut-il  lui  dire  ? 

— Dites-lui  qu’on  Vattendit 
Jusqu'a  den  mourir  . . . 

Et  sHl  m'interroge  encore 
Sans  me  reconnaitre  ? 

— Parlez-lui  comme  une  soeur , 

II  souffre  peut-etre  . . . 

The  perfect  voice  rose  with  the  question  and  sank  to  a 
murmur  with  the  answer  in  that  sad  colloquy  ; the  lute 
followed  slowly  with  strange,  poignant  chords.  Denis  sat 
very  still,  with  his  hands  tightly  clasped  round  his  knees. 


86 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


He  was  enthralled  by  the  magic  of  the  sound,  yet  even  then 
some  critical  instinct  seemed  to  tell  him  that  what  he  heard 
was  not  only  lovely,  but  absolutely  right ; perfect  and  com- 
plete in  its  own  way.  This  was  greatness,  though  it  was 
expressed  in  a tiny  song,  whereas  when  Mr.  Searle  played 
something  vast — one  of  the  later  sonatas  of  Beethoven, 
for  instance — he  made  it  seem  merely  clever. 

Et  s'il  veut  savoir  pourquoi 
La  salle  est  deserte  ? 

— Montrez-lui  la  lampe  eteinte 
Et  la  porte  ouverte  . . . 

The  voice  sank  to  the  very  edge  of  silence,  and  remained 
there,  like  a bird  poised  on  motionless  wings  above  some  dark 
gulf. 

Et  sHl  m'interroge  alors 
Sur  la  derniere  heure  ? 

— Dites-lui  que  fai  souri 
De  peur  quHl  ne  pleure  . . . 

Quite  abruptly,  with  one  deep  note  on  a bass  string,  the 
song  ceased.  There  was  silence  in  the  room  for  a little  while, 
and  then  the  tension  was  broken  by  a melodious  sigh  from 
the  poodle.  Mr.  Duroy  laid  down  the  lute  and  laughed 
softly. 

* Narcisse,'  he  said  to  the  dog,  ‘ music  to  hear,  why  hearest 
thou  music  sadly  ? ' Narcisse  rose,  went  towards  his  master, 
and  laying  his  head  on  his  knee,  gazed  at  him  with  eyes  full 
of  unutterable  affection.  ‘ You  liked  that  ? ' Mr.  Duroy 
asked  Denis.  ‘ The  words  are  by  a man  called  Maeterlinck. ' 

‘ But  wrho  did  the  music  ? ' asked  Denis. 

‘ Oh,  the  music,'  said  Mr.  Duroy  disdainfully.  ‘ That  kind 
of  thing  is  one  of  our  innumerable  useless  accomplishments. 
Rosalind  and  I rather  go  in  for  uselessness.  Rise,  little  cat, 
from  that  somnolent  posture,  and  show  him  what  you  can 
do  in  our  particular  line.  Narcisse,  if  you  interrupt  I shall 
put  you  inside  the  piano  with  your  more  sensitive  ear  close 
to  the  loud,  big,  harsh,  booming  bass  notes.  It 's  the  oboe 
that  he  really  can't  abide,'  he  explained  solemnly  to  Denis  ; 


THE  FIRST  ROUND  87 

‘ it  reminds  him,  you  know,  of  the  voice  of  one  whom  he 
loved  and  lost/ 

He  took  a very  dark  violin  out  of  a smart  new  case,  put 
some  rosin  on  the  bow,  and  gave  them  to  Rosalind.  She 
played,  as  Denis  knew  she  would,  extremely  well,  with  her 
little  white  chin  looking  very  square  and  determined  against 
the  dark  brown  wood,  and  a funny  firm  line  showing  between 
her  level  brows.  Her  father  accompanied  her  perfectly, 
smoking  his  pipe  and  swaying  his  large  body  slowly  from 
side  to  side  like  a benevolent  bear.  She  played  several  short 
pieces  by  a Russian  composer  with  a name  that  was  like  the 
explosion  of  a Chinese  cracker,  and  then,  quite  suddenly, 
she  put  down  the  violin,  kicked  away  a rug,  and  began  to 
dance.  She  had  some  clicking  things  in  her  hands  that 
seemed  to  have  come  there  by  magic,  though  possibly  she 
picked  them  up  when  she  laid  down  the  violin.  Without 
even  looking  round,  her  father  had  begun  to  play  a queer 
tune  in  a minor  key  with  an  amazingly  fascinating  rhythm, — 
ta  rum  te  turn,  ta  rum  te  turn,  ta  rum  turn  tum-a-rum-a-rum  turn 
turn, — a Spanish  dance,  as  Denis  learnt  afterwards,  from  a 
famous  French  opera.  And  she  danced,  very  slowly  at 
first,  then  faster,  and  her  pigtail  gyrated  in  heavy  curves  as 
if  it  were  trying  to  keep  time  with  her  feet  and  was  always  a 
moment  too  late.  Her  feet  touched  the  floor  so  softly  that 
Denis  could  hear  nothing  except  the  staccato  click  of  the 
castanets  ; the  vivid  colour  of  her  plaid  frock  reminded  him  of 
the  variegated  hues  of  Harlequin.  Her  eyes  were  dreamy 
and  half  closed,  and  she  looked  very  serious.  She  continued 
to  dance  for  several  minutes,  then  said  something  over  her 
shoulder  to  her  father,  and  abruptly  sank  down  on  the  floor 
and  sat  there,  resting  her  head  with  agreeable  calmness 
against  Denis's  knee.  The  poodle  came  over  to  her,  and 
uttered  a melancholy  whine  as  she  patted  him.  ‘ Do  let 
us  have  an  end  of  all  this  musical  nonsense,'  he  seemed  to  say. 

4 And  now,'  cried  Mr.  Duroy,  springing  up  abruptly  from 
the  piano,  * the  little  amateurs  have  done  their  worst.  Let 
the  great  professional  advance  to  the  sacrifice.  Maiden's 
Prayers  and  Battles  of  Prague  omitted,  by  desire.  No 


88 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


applause  allowed  during  the  movements,  Narcisse.’  So 
Denis  played  two  of  the  Moments  Musicaux  of  Schubert, 
and  found  that  the  piano  was  very  different  from  the  spavined 
instruments  in  the  music-rooms  at  school,  where  you  marked 
the  faulty  keys  with  a spot  of  red  ink  as  a reproach  unto 
the  music-master.  When  he  had  finished,  and  his  hosts  had 
poured  elaborate  compliments  into  his  reluctant  ear,  Mr. 
Duroy  produced  an  oboe  and  Rosalind  her  violin,  and  they 
made  Denis  play  the  piano  part  of  a trio  by  some  old  Italian, 
— a delicate  pastoral  full  of  piping  shepherds  and  rippling 
brooks  and  trees  and  laughter  and  sunshine  on  bright 
meadows.  The  trio  was  quite  a success,  though  Denis 
broke  down  when  Narcisse  converted  it  into  a quartette  by 
unexpectedly  lifting  up  his  voice.  This  was  the  end  of 
Narcisse  ; he  was  thrust  into  exterior  darkness,  and  a moment 
later  a volley  of  barks  in  the  garden  proclaimed  his  indifference 
to  the  artistic  paradise  from  which  he  had  been  expelled. 

Then  Mr.  Duroy  sang  the  Erl-Konig  and  the  Doppel-ganger 
and,  by  way  of  contrast,  some  delightful  English  folk-songs 
and  French  nursery  rhymes.  And  after  this  orgy  of  sound 
was  ended  he  pinned  many  sheets  of  brown  paper  on  an  easel 
and  did  lightning  sketches  in  red  chalk  of  great  musicians : 
Beethoven,  with  his  grand  brow  and  splendid,  sullen  eyes  ; 
Wagner,  all  nerve,  supremely  intelligent,  with  a flickering 
hint  of  shrewdness  in  his  tense  lips  ; Chopin,  the  willowy 
ghost  of  a man  ; and  then,  suddenly,  Rosalind  with  the 
castanets  and  Denis  at  the  piano,  Marie,  Narcisse,  and  an 
amorphous  monster  with  a pipe,  several  chins  and  eyes  like 
fiery  circles,  which  was  discovered  eventually  to  be  the 
portrait  of  the  artist. 

At  length  Denis  realised  with  amazement  and  disgust  that 
it  was  nearly  eight  o’clock.  He  rose  to  make  his  farewells, 
and  as  he  did  so  was  conscious  of  feeling  almost  the  same 
sensation  that  afflicted  him  when  he  turned  back  towards 
school  after  a long  Saturday  ramble.  Mr.  Duroy  and 
Rosalind  entreated  him  to  stay  to  dinner  and  promised  to 
lend  him  a beautiful  Venetian  lantern  to  guide  him  to  the 
village,  but  the  thought  of  his  father  made  him  resist  even  this 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


89 

temptation.  They  seemed  really  sorry  that  he  was  going, 
and  made  him  vow  solemnly  to  come  and  see  them  whenever 
he  could. 

' We  are  here  as  constantly  as  two  cabbages/  explained 
Mr.  Duroy.  4 Our  business  hours  are  from  8 a.m.  to  12  p.m., 
and  we  always  welcome  an  interruption.  If  I 'm  painting 
when  you  call  you  can  talk  music  to  Rosalind,  and  if  Rosalind 
is  making  day  exquisite  with  scales  and  five-finger  exercises, 
or  designing  a new  masterpiece,  you  can  play  frivolous  games 
with  me.  Don't  ring  the  bell,  because  it 's  broken,  and 
won't ; walk  straight  in  and  do  whatever  you  like  or  nothing 
at  all.' 

And  Rosalind  kissed  him  heartily  on  both  cheeks,  and 
cried,  ‘ You  aren't  to  forget,'  as  she  stood  hand-in-hand  with 
her  father  in  the  porch. 

As  if  he  could  forget  them  ! 

He  could  recall  every  moment  of  those  eventful  hours  ; 
he  felt  that  the  memory  of  the  long  room — its  odour  of  paint 
and  tobacco,  the  firelight  on  Rosalind's  face,  the  dance,  the 
songs,  the  poodle — would  stay  with  him  all  his  life.  What 
a splendid  thought  it  was  ! However  dreary  and  stiff  and 
cold-eyed  the  people  might  be  whom  he  met,  he  would  know, 
at  all  events,  that  the  whole  world  didn't  belong  to  such 
creatures  ; there  would  always  be  Mr.  Duroy,  and  Rosalind, 
and  Tellier  as  champions  of  joy  and  kindness  and  good- 
fellowship.  How  lucky  he  was  to  have  met  them,  how  un- 
speakably lucky  ! 

His  face  was  glowing  when  he  reached  home  and  his  eyes 
were  very  bright,  but  he  did  not  say  very  much  to  Dr.  Yorke, 
and  Dr.  Yorke  did  not  ask  him  any  questions.  It  was  the 
doctor's  custom  to  read  a newspaper  during  dinner, — a custom 
that  Denis  had  known  ever  since  he  could  remember. 

That  night  it  seemed  strange  to  him  for  the  first  time. 
He  thought  of  the  table  where  he  might  have  been  sitting  ; 
there  was  laughter,  he  knew  ; Rosalind's  eyes  would  shine, 
Mr.  Duroy  would  say  funny  things  in  his  great,  soft  voice, 
and  Marie  would  pass  to  and  fro  with  her  sympathetic  French 
smile.  There  would  be  no  rustling  newspaper,  no  silence,  no 


90 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


brown  depressing  walls,  and  probably  no  cold  mutton.  He 
felt  a vague  sensation  of  resentment. 

‘ They  asked  me  to  stay  to  dinner/  he  said  suddenly. 

Dr.  Yorke  looked  up  from  his  paper  and  frowned  slightly. 

‘ You  were  quite  late  enough  already/  he  said,  and  returned 
to  the  golden  periods  of  the  Prime  Minister.  Denis  made  no 
further  remark,  and  stared  fixedly  at  an  unpleasing  print  of 
one  of  Landseer's  least  admirable  pictures. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


9i 


X 

LATER  in  life,  when  he  looked  back  on  those  first 
^ holidays,  it  seemed  to  him  that  all  their  hours  must 
have  been  devoted  to  music  at  Parnasse  and  long  walks  over 
the  hills  with  Rosalind  and  her  father.  Rheumatisms  and 
influenzas  kept  Dr.  Yorke  busy  all  day  long,  and  Mr.  Searle 
went  to  Switzerland  to  skate.  Denis  only  met  his  father  at 
breakfast,  at  dinner,  and  rarely  at  luncheon  ; Dr.  Yorke 
was  always  in  a hurry  at  the  earlier  meals,  and  always  tired 
at  the  late  one.  Hard  work  and  long  drives  in  the  cold  air 
made  him  irritable  ; but  he  had  ceased,  apparently,  to  look 
with  such  active  disfavour  on  the  new  friends  of  his  son,  and 
only  reiterated  perfunctorily  his  fear  that  the  boy's  perpetual 
visits  were  becoming  a nuisance  to  Mr.  Duroy.  Perhaps  he 
observed  that  the  afternoons  at  Parnasse,  where  airy  conversa- 
tion and  games  with  Narcisse  would  be  succeeded  by  a really 
strenuous  hour  with  the  pianoforte  and  the  violin,  had  a most 
beneficial  effect  on  Denis's  music  ; perhaps  he  realised  that  the 
boy  seemed  less  fragile  and  dreamy  since  he  had  found  this 
new  and  enthralling  interest  in  life.  At  all  events,  Denis 
was  permitted  to  pass  the  days  as  he  pleased  ; he  played 
scales  and  read  Stevenson  (ex  libris  A.  Duroy)  in  the  mornings, 
as  soon  as  luncheon  was  ended  he  walked  very  quickly  to 
Parnasse,  eager  for  the  friendly  laughter  of  its  tenants  and 
the  hospitable  bark  of  the  poodle.  Then,  if  it  was  fine,  a 
tramp  across  the  hills,  with  much  high  argument  and 
occasional  songs  from  Mr.  Duroy, — splendid  songs  that  shod 
you  with  fire  and  made  you  step  out  like  a giant  at  the  very 
moment  when  you  had  begun  to  feel  the  first  hint  of  weariness  ; 
or,  if  there  was  rain,  foils  and  a skipping-rope  in  the  bam, 
which  had  an  excellent  floor.  Rosalind  was  already  quite 
an  accomplished  fencer  ; she  wore  dark  blue  knickerbockers 
and  stockings  and  a smart  yellow  plastron  which  Denis  very 
rarely  contrived  to  touch  with  his  foil,  and  she  tucked  away 


92 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


her  pigtail  inside  her  mask.  Her  lunges  were  like  flashes  of 
lightning,  and  her  wrist  never  seemed  to  tire,  though  Denis's 
would  ache  till  he  almost  dropped  his  foil ; she  was  extra- 
ordinarily supple,  and  would  evade  a thrust  by  a funny  side- 
long twist  of  her  body  that  reminded  Denis  of  the  action  of 
a cat  passing  through  narrow  railings,  and  her  eyes  shone 
behind  the  wires,  as  he  told  her,  like  something  fierce  in  a 
dark  cage.  But  she  was  so  very  jolly — not  in  the  least  pleased 
with  herself — that  you  didn't  mind  a bit  even  when  she 
pinked  you  half  a dozen  times,  and  made  you  feel  as  if  you  had 
weights  tied  to  your  feet  and  were  using  a rapier  that 
shortened  when  you  lunged  and  grew  enormously  heavy  when 
you  tried  to  parry.  After  an  hour  or  so  of  healthy  exercise 
you  were  quite  ready  for  tea  by  the  studio  fire,  and  after  tea 
came  music, — really  serious  work,  with  groans  and  peremptory 
commands  for  repetition  from  Mr.  Duroy  if  there  was  a wrong 
note,  and  stem  attention  to  time,  and  no  cheap  pedal  effects 
undreamed  of  by  the  composer.  Then,  after  farewells  and  a 
promise  to  meet  on  the  morrow,  Denis  would  scamper  home 
beneath  the  frosty  sky  with  his  head  full  of  Bach  and 
Beethoven,  and  the  high  notes  of  the  violin  that  always 
brought  a flood  of  daffodil  light  about  his  closed  eyes,  and  the 
deep  notes  of  Mr.  Duroy's  voice  that  seemed  to  drape  the 
whole  world  with  royal  purple  ; and  his  heart  would  thrill  with 
the  content  that  follows  a day  of  intense,  active  happiness. 

The  end  of  these  delights  came  too  soon, — sooner,  at  any 
rate,  than  the  Duroys  had  imagined,  for  as  the  days  of  his 
last  week  at  home  fled  like  leaves  in  the  gale,  Denis  avoided 
all  reference  to  his  departure.  Even  on  the  last  day,  though 
he  knew  that  he  must  tell  them  the  truth  at  last,  he 
put  off  the  fatal  moment  as  long  as  was  possible.  It  would 
spoil  the  whole  atmosphere,  he  felt ; the  shadow  of  school, 
with  its  conventions,  and  catch-phrases,  and  noise,  would 
brood  over  that  bright  place  and  ruin  its  memory  for  him  ; 
he  wanted  to  keep  on  thinking  that  the  boy  whom  Rosalind 
called  ‘ mon  Denis  ' was  quite  a different  person  from  Yorke 
of  Lister's  (school  number  252). 

They  finished  the  evening  with  a trio  for  pianoforte,  violin, 
and  violoncello  (Mr.  Duroy,  as  he  modestly  announced, 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


93 


played  every  instrument  in  the  world  except  the  banjo  and 
the  mouth-organ),  and  then  Denis  closed  the  piano  and  put 
Rosalind's  violin  into  its  case,  feeling  as  if  he  were  assisting 
at  his  own  interment.  Mr.  Duroy  was  highly  elated  by  the 
trio  ; he  hugged  Rosalind,  and  then  came  over  to  Denis  and 
patted  his  shoulder. 

4 Do  you  know,  maestro  mio ,’  he  said,  ‘ that  we  were  all 
very  good  indeed  to-night  ? There  isn’t  any  question  that  we 
are  all  incomparable  geniuses.  But  there  was  one  tiny 
doubtful  moment,’  he  went  on,  waving  a large  finger  in  the 
air  and  then  gently  bringing  it  down  on  the  top  of  Denis’s 
head  as  if  he  were  transfixing  the  ghost  of  a musical  error  ; 

4 just  after  Rosalind  wanted  to  sneeze  in  the  scherzo  and 
wrinkled  up  her  nose.  But  to-morrow — oh,  the  old  cry  of 
the  toiling  artist ! — To-morrow  we  shall  be  perfect.  Come 
early,  and  we  will  walk  early,  have  tea  early,  and  play  early. 
Persuade  your  stern  parent  to  let  you  stay  and  dine  with  us.’ 

‘ I ’m  afraid  there  won’t  be  any  to-morrow,’  said  Denis 
very  grimly. 

Mr.  Duroy  held  up  his  hands  in  alarm. 

4 Now  don’t  you  go  a-frightening  a poor  old  man  and  a 
nervous  female,’  he  said.  ‘ There  has  got  to  be  a to-morrow 
in  spite  of  Zadkiel  and  Nostradamus  and  Mother  Shipton 
and  the  Witch  of  Endor.  I won’t  hear  for  a moment  of  there 
being  no  to-morrow,  for  isn’t  it  the  birthday  of  the  lovely, 
the  accomplished,  the  peerless  and  pig-tailed  Rosalind 
Duroy  ? There  now,  I ’ve  let  it  out,  and  I vowed  that  I 
wouldn’t.  To-morrow  the  ordance  will  thunder  over  Europe, 
the  bonfires  will  blaze  on  the  hills,  Narcisse  will  have  a new 
blue  ribbon,  and  Marie  will  finally  ruin  her  complexion  in 
the  oven.  Rosalind  will  attain  the  mellow,  genial  age  of 
thirteen,  and  we  ’ll  have  a snapdragon  all  to  ourselves  with 
a string  tied  to  each  threepenny  bit  to  preserve  our  tuneful 
diaphragms.  No  to-morrow,  indeed  ! ’ 

But  Rosalind  had  been  watching  the  boy’s  face.  ‘ Daddy,’ 
she  said  suddenly,  ‘ he ’s  going  back  to  school.  That ’s 
what  he  means.’ 

Mr.  Duroy  stared  at  Denis  with  immense  round  eyes,  and 
Denis  nodded  slowly. 


94 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


' That  's  it/  he  said.  ‘ I 'm  going  back  to  school/ 

‘Oh!’  said  Mr.  Duroy.  ‘ Oh  ! This  just  crumples  up 
the  whole  universe.  But  why  didn't  you  tell  us,  Denis  ? 
We  would  have  advanced  the  feast,  even  at  the  risk  of  making 
Rosalind  an  old  woman  before  her  time/ 

Denis  was  silent  for  a moment. 

‘ I couldn't/  he  said,  4 somehow  I felt  as  if  it  would  spoil 
everything.  For  me,  you  know.  I 'm  awfully  sorry/ 
Then  his  eyes  fell  on  Narcisse,  who  had  been  re-admitted 
after  the  conclusion  of  the  trio,  and  stood  near  them  wagging 
his  tail  and  looking  at  them  with  an  air  of  artless  sympathy. 
For  some  occult  reason  the  aspect  of  that  homely  hound 
seemed  to  make  the  thought  of  the  world  into  which  he  was 
going  additionally  dark  and  comfortless  to  Denis.  He  stooped 
and  patted  the  dog. 

‘ Oh  dear,  what  a black  birthday  we  're  going  to  have  ! ' 
said  Mr.  Duroy ; ‘ and  it  would  have  been  so  jolly.  This 
comes  of  trying  to  plan  surprises  in  a cut-and-dried  'world  of 
convention  and  time-tables.' 

‘ There  won't  be  any  birthday,'  said  Rosalind  with  con- 
viction. ‘ I shall  put  it  off  till  he  comes  back.  Narcisse 
has  a birthday  in  April  and  I shall  change  with  him.  Marie 
shall  put  his  name  in  pink  sugar  on  my  cake.' 

‘ Brief  is  the  life  of  brutes  and  full  of  tears,'  declaimed  Mr. 
Duroy.  ‘ Narcisse  can't  afford  to  play  scapedog  in  that  way 
very  often,  Rosalind.  As  for  you,  Denis,  I regard  you  with 
the  dark  eye  of  reproachfulness.  Your  beastly  reticence 
has  made  Marie  labour  in  vain  and  effected  a serious  alteration 
in  the  age  of  my  undutiful  daughter.  Retire  for  ever  from 
our  presence.  No,  don't  retire ; we  must  have  another 
conquest  of  that  trio.  When  will  you  come  back  ? Is  it 
in  April  ? ' 

‘ Yes,'  said  Denis,  ‘ on  the  18th.' 

‘Oh!  ' cried  Rosalind  mournfully.  ‘ It 's  years ! I 
can't  wait  till  then.' 

‘ Now,  I protest ! ' said  her  father.  ‘ You  really  mustn't 
make  him  imagine  that  he  is  indispensable.  Pride  is  the 
scourge  of  young  and  old.  We  don't  want  to  see  you  ever 
again,  Mr.  Denis,  but  if  you  do  happen  to  be  passing  on  the 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


95 


19th  of  April,  we  may  so  far  unbend  as  to  offer  you  merely 
formal  hospitality.  A letter  from  you,  if  adequately  stamped, 
will  find  its  way  to  our  breakfast-table,  though  of  course  I 
will  not  answer  for  its  being  read.  In  any  case,  don't  forget 
about  the  19th,  because  that  happens  to  be  Rosalind's 
birthday.  If  you  don't  come  you  will  have  to  fight  a duel 
with  both  of  us  at  once.  Rosalind  will  be  armed  with  an 
epke,  and  I shall  attack  you  from  behind  with  a battle-axe.' 
And  Rosalind  took  hold  of  the  lapels  of  his  coat  and  said, 

* Dear  little  Denis,  you  won't  forget  ? ' This  was  absurd, 
for  he  was  at  least  an  inch  the  taller,  but  it  made  him  feel  as  if 
he  had  swallowed  a handful  of  sand. 

He  went  away  at  last  in  such  a mental  whirl  that  after- 
wards he  was  almost  certain  he  had  shaken  hands  with 
Narcisse  and  patted  Mr.  Duroy  on  the  back.  ‘ It  was 
splendid  ! ' was  the  only  articulate  expression  of  thanks  that 
he  was  able  to  utter,  and  he  realised,  as  he  went  home,  that 
it  was  absurdly  inadequate  to  express  his  almost  ecstatic 
appreciation  of  the  kindness  of  these  new  friends,  these 
comrades  in  art,  who  made  him  feel  that  he  had  been  intimate 
with  them  for  a thousand  wonderful  years.  He  realised,  too, 
with  an  astonishment  that  atrophied  all  his  powers  to  think, 
that  they  were  honestly  sorry  that  he  was  leaving  them  ; 
there  was  real  affectionate  concern  in  Mr.  Duroy 's  jolly  face 
as  he  stood  in  the  porch,  and  when  Denis  had  shut  the  garden 
gate  he  heard  Rosalind  say  in  her  funny  quick  way,  ‘ Daddy, 
he  is  so  alone  ! ' 

Alone  he  was,  perhaps,  but  no  longer  lonely,  with  the 
memory  of  Parnasse  as  his  faithful  companion  in  long  dull 
hours,  and  the  vision  of  his  friends  to  lighten  the  darkness 
of  unsympathetic  places.  He  wondered  what  he  had  done 
to  deserve  all  the  good  fortune  which  had  resulted  from  that 
chance  encounter  on  the  hills  amid  the  storms  of  early  autumn. 
Did  any  other  boy  in  the  world  ever  have  such  friends  as 
these  ? 

Once  again,  however,  his  exhilaration  vanished  and 
depression  enwrapped  him  as  he  entered  the  doorway  of  the 
Red  House. 


96 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


XI 

THE  founders  and  arbiters  of  the  public  school  system 
who  ordained  that  the  life  in  these  institutions 
should  be  one  incessant  round  of  activity  from  the  beginning 
of  term  to  its  end  have  perhaps  proved  to  be  the  children  of 
wisdom.  To  a healthy  boy  who  can  manage  to  keep  his  place 
in  the  crowd  without  undue  straining  there  is  a tonic  effect 
in  the  absence  of  leisure ; and  the  sense  of  being  a lively 
part  in  a great  and  ever-moving  body  is  an  admirable  enemy 
to  stagnation  of  mind.  It  is  only  the  special  case,  the  variant 
from  the  type,  who  suffers  when  he  is  included  in  masses 
that  move  by  rule  ; and  if  we  are  inclined  to  admit  the 
dangerous  premise  that  any  suffering  can  be  good  for'  a young 
soul,  we  may  cheerfully  conclude  that  the  rough  process  is 
justified  if  it  turns  the  variant  into  a solid,  ordinary  person  ; 
or,  if  he  is  a hopeless  rebel,  at  least  teaches  him  that  the 
thorns  of  life  are  not  tender  to  him  who  kicks.  To  be  borne 
gaily  along  the  swift  stream,  doing  your  own  little  share 
with  the  oar,  is  pleasant  enough  ; it  is  only  when  bad 
weather,  or  incessant  petty  tyranny,  or  accumulated  punish- 
ments contrive  to  spoil  the  rhythm  of  your  days,  that  you 
begin  to  feel  like  one  who  no  longer  rows  in  the  boat  but 
is  dragged  painfully  through  blinding  and  choking  waters, 
bruising  himself  in  frantic  efforts  to  regain  his  lost  place  in  the 
general  scheme,  and  at  last  lying  sullen  and  inert  until  some 
one  either  lends  a hand  or  cuts  the  rope  that  binds  him. 

For  the  first  few  weeks  of  his  second  term  Denis  found  an 
interest  in  the  mere  sensation  of  taking  up  the  threads  of  his 
school  life  exactly  as  he  had  left  them.  In  spite  of  the 
mists  and  rain  of  January  that  accentuated  the  ugliness  of 
the  yellow  buildings  and  changed  the  playing-fields  into  so 
many  marshes,  there  was  something  exhilarating  in  being 
part  of  a formal  system  when  you  had  gained  enough  experi- 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


97 


ence  to  avoid  being  hustled  ; when,  as  it  were,  you  could  keep 
up  the  pace  without  becoming  breathless  and  bewildered. 
There  were  certain  persons,  too,  whom  he  wished  to  see  ; 
Lenwood,  who  was  as  saturnine  as  ever,  greeting  him  at  the 
beginning  of  term  with  a nod  and  a cursory  ‘ Hullo,  Yorke  1 ; 
and  Tellier,  the  incomparable  Tellier,  who  looked  older  and 
less  jovial,  but  nevertheless  grinned  expansively  when  he 
caught  sight  of  Denis  in  chapel  on  the  first  night  of  term,  and 
sent  him  an  invitation  to  tea  in  his  study  on  the  first  Saturday 
afternoon.  Denis  went,  and  found,  to  his  surprise,  that 
Lenwood  was  his  fellow-guest.  The  other  members  of  the 
study  were  M/Curdy,  the  wild,  shy  Scot  with  a droll  trick  of 
speech,  and  Lawrence,  who  was  in  the  same  house  as  Denis, 
but  was  only  known  to  him  by  sight.  Lawrence  was  a most 
superior  person  ; he  had  been  in  the  Eleven  for  three  years 
and  was  a prefect,  and  had  a reputation  for  ‘ side  ' both  in  the 
house  and  the  school  which  was  due  to  his  reluctance  to 
speak  to  any  but  his  intimate  friends.  The  only  occasion 
on  which  Denis  had  come  into  personal  contact  with  this  hero 
was  when  he  had  whitened  the  boots  which  Lawrence  used 
for  playing  racquets,  and  he  remembered  distinctly  that 
Lawrence  had  omitted  to  thank  him  for  performing  this 
task.  Now  that  the  slave  appeared  as  a guest  in  his  study, 
however,  Lawrence's  manner  was  wholly  different ; he  was 
quite  friendly,  and  talked  volubly  to  Denis  about  the  many 
points  in  which  Lister's  was  superior  to  any  other  house  in 
the  school.  He  was  just  as  decent  to  Lenwood,  too,  Denis 
thought,  though  Lenwood  was  obviously  disliked  by  the 
prefects  of  Lister's,  and  had  actually  had  an  altercation  with 
Lawrence,  which  the  latter  terminated  by  walking  away  with 
an  acid  smile.  But  now  Lawrence  behaved  as  if  they  were 
old  friends,  and  gave  a satiric  account  to  Tellier  of  the  great 
spectacle  afforded  to  gods  and  mortals  when  M/Curdy  tried 
to  teach  Lenwood  to  play  golf  amongst  the  Heath  ponds. 

‘ A loathsome  scene  ! ' concluded  Lawrence  with  the  inevit- 
able high  note  on  the  adjective.  Tellier  responded  with  a 
string  of  impossible  scories  about  M'Curdy's  life  in  Scotland, 
where,  according  to  all  accounts,  he  dwelt  in  an  impregnable 
G 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


98 

fortress,  clad  in  a brief  kilt  and  armed  to  the  teeth,  except 
when  he  led  the  clan  M'Curdy  forth  by  night  to  hag-ride 
and  to  moss-troop,  whatever  these  extraordinary  processes 
might  be.  Full  of  blood-lust  was  M'Curdy’s  heart,  and 
murder  worked  like  a maggot  in  his  brain  ; but  somewhere 
in  his  vast  interior  he  cherished  a strange  passion  for  a pale 
princess  of  the  north  who  had  carrot-coloured  hair  and  whose 
name  was  Thomasina.  But  she  scorned  M'Curdy,  being  the 
lineal  descendant  of  a thousand  kings  and  amateur  lady 
golf-champion  of  Scotland  and  the  Isles. 

Denis  came  away  from  the  study  feeling  that  the  haughty 
ones  of  earth  were  very  much  like  every  one  else  at  school, — 
friendly  and  delightful  when  you  met  them  alone,  but  quite 
different  when  they  were  ten  or  twelve  gathered  together. 

He  met  Tellier  very  seldom  after  that  day,  though  he  always 
watched  his  restless  tawny  head  in  chapel,  where  Tellier, 
I am  afraid,  was  rarely  on  his  best  behaviour.  With  Len- 
wood,  however,  he  became  almost  intimate,  going' for  walks 
with  him  on  Sunday,  and  growing  accustomed  to  his  habit 
of  producing  a book  from  his  pocket,  slackening  his  long 
stride  to  the  slowest  possible  pace,  and  becoming  com- 
pletely absorbed  in  literature.  The  thirst  for  reading  would 
come  upon  him  in  the  most  unlikely  places, — at  half-time 
in  a game  of  football,  or  when  he  was  walking  over  a level 
crossing.  The  School  regarded  him  as  totally  mad,  but  his 
sharp  tongue  and  strong  arm  secured  him  from  molestation 
by  the  tormentors.  He  lent  Denis  more  books,  and  even 
condescended  to  expound  certain  difficult  passages  in  them. 

So  time  went  on,  and  Denis  found  himself  gliding  gradually 
into  a kind  of  apathetic  contentment  which  he  had  certainly 
not  known  during  his  first  term.  The  little  accidents  of 
schooldays  lost  their  tremendous  and  threatening  importance 
the  exhortations  towards  energy  which  came  every  week 
from  his  father  seemed  to  have  no  real  relation  with  his  life  ; 
he  was  going  very  comfortably  with  the  tide,  preserving 
appearances  in  the  form-room,  working  steadily  at  music, 
and  jealously  guarding  the  scanty  leisure  that  he  was  able 
to  devote  to  books  and  dreams.  The  house  thought  him 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


99 


quite  insignificant ; he  excited  neither  interest  nor  animosity  ; 
the  tormentors  never  troubled  him,  and  his  form-master  found 
him  painstaking,  normal,  and  rather  dull.  He  went  to 
voluntary  gymnasium  three  times  a week,  and  showed  a 
certain  aptitude  for  hand-fives  and  other  court  games.  The 
music-master  noticed  a change  in  him  ; his  technique  had 
improved  steadily,  but  the  temperament  that  he  had  shown 
signs  of  possessing  seemed  to  be  in  danger  of  eclipse. 

He  was  contented,  in  a dull  kind  of  way,  with  the  even 
monotony  of  his  days  ; life  at  school,  he  felt,  would  be 
always  the  same  ; he  would  attain  no  distinctions,  but  at 
least  he  would  suffer  no  violent  agonies.  If  you  couldn't 
be  brilliant  and  wonderful  like  Tellier,  it  was  as  well  to  be 
completely  insignificant.  Defiant  eccentricity,  like  that  of 
Lenwood,  led  to  much  discomfort  unless  you  possessed 
Lenwood's  invincible  contempt  for  ordinary  popularity,  and 
the  way  of  the  harmless  imbecile  was  hard  at  a public  school. 
The  poor  Toad's  life  was  made  a burden  to  him,  yet  even 
he  had  a fund  of  inane  cheerfulness  that  seemed  to  carry  him 
through  episodes  which  would  have  driven  a more  sensitive 
boy  to  the  lowest  depth  of  despair.  He  was  the  easy  dupe 
in  every  scheme  of  the  tormentors.  After  kicking  him  in  the 
dormitory  they  would  suddenly  become  friendly  and  invite 
him  to  tea  in  their  studies.  He  would  go,  and  they  would 
compel  him  to  eat  a filthy  galimatias  of  eggs  and  sawdust, 
subsequently  thrusting  him  out  with  blows  and  insults. 
Their  ingenious  tortures  made  the  heart  of  Denis  grow  sick  ; 
whenever  he  entered  the  dormitory  at  night  he  would  find 
two  or  three  of  them  engaged  in  ill-treating  the  wretched 
Madden.  He  talked  to  Lenwood  on  the  subject,  but  Lenwood 
seemed  to  have  very  little  sympathy  for  the  victim,  and 
aired  a grim  philosophy.  * Some  people  are  born  like  that,' 
he  said.  ‘ Madden 's  not  meant  for  school,  and  his  people 
ought  to  have  realised  it ; but  all  through  his  life  it  '11  be  the 
same.  There 's  been  some  mistake  somewhere  ; he  ought 
to  have  fallen  out  oi  his  perambulator  when  he  was  a kid 
and  been  run  over  by  a traction-engine.'  And  he  smiled 
sardonically  at  the  sorry  figure  of  Madden  trying  to  pretend. 


IOO 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


as  he  submitted  to  some  new  indignity,  that  it  was  all 
tremendously  funny. 

On  one  occasion,  indeed,  Lenwood  almost  interfered.  He 
came  into  the  dormitory  in  the  evening  to  find  the  familiar 
comedy  being  enacted  in  the  presence  of  the  small  fry  of  the 
house.  Madden  had  gone  to  bed  early  with  a headache, 
but  as  soon  as  the  tormentors  appeared  they  pulled  him  out, 
and  compelled  him  to  dance.  The  spectacle,  if  you  happened 
to  be  heartless,  was  not  without  humour  ; Madden  flopped 
about  on  heavy  feet,  and  grinned  painfully.  When  he 
paused  and  begged  to  be  allowed  to  return  to  bed,  the 
audience  threw  various  articles  of  hardware  at  him,  and  one 
of  the  tormentors  strove  to  arouse  his  flagging  energies  with 
a cane.  Lenwood  pushed  his  way  slowly  through  the  crowd 
and  went  up  the  dormitory  towards  his  cubicle.  As  he 
passed  Madden  he  glanced  at  him,  and  said  contemptuously : 

* You  fool ! Why  don't  you  go  for  them  ? ' 

Madden  looked  at  him  stupidly  for  a moment,  and  then  a 
strange  frenzy  seemed  to  seize  him.  His  face  grew  purple, 
he  stammered  incoherent  words.  ‘ That 's  it,'  he  said ; 
‘ if  I did  my  duty  to  myself  and  the  school  I should  smash 
them, — damn  them  ! ' He  whirled  his  long  arms  and 
advanced  towards  the  tormentors  ; the  house  shouted  its 
amusement,  the  tormentors  seemed  to  be  surprised.  But 
even  as  he  reached  them  his  courage  failed  ; he  stood  there 
hesitating,  and  they  all  rushed  at  him  at  once  and  beat  him 
heartily,  and  then  he  wept.  It  was  no  consolation  to  him 
that  Arbuthnot  came  in  a moment  later,  and,  realising  what 
was  going  on,  caned  the  tormentors  for  being  out  of  their 
cubicles  after  ten  o'clock,  and  threatened  the  whole  house 
with  immense  punishment ; he  knew  that  he  had  had  a 
great  chance,  and  that  he  had  failed  to  take  it.  Lenwood 
turned  to  Denis  with  a shrug.  'You  see  ? ' he  said  ; ‘ he 
funks  them.  He  always  will  funk  now,  all  through  his  life. 
It 's  no  good  trying  to  do  anything  for  him.  He  was  made  to 
be  the  prey  of  every  little  cad  and  beast.  He 's  cowed, 
and  once  you  're  thoroughly  cowed  it 's  all  up  with  you.' 

Denis  felt  that  this  was  true.  But  how  wretched  it  was, 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


ioi 


he  thought  while  he  undressed,  that  any  one  like  Madden 
should  be  sent  to  a place  where  he  would  become  broken- 
spirited  for  life  ! Madden’s  people,  of  course,  had  sent  him 
to  a smart  private  school  and  then  to  Lister’s  house  because 
it  was  the  proper  thing  to  do,  without  ever  troubling  to  think 
if  their  son  was  fitted  for  places  of  the  kind ; whereas  Madden 
was  meant  by  nature  to  live  in  the  country  and  do  carpenter- 
ing— he  was  very  good  at  carpentering — and  never  to  be  with 
any  people  who  could  combine  to  torture  him  because  he 
happened  to  be  weak  and  foolish.  Why,  oh  why  did  people 
make  others  miserable  by  doing  the  proper  thing  without 
ever  thinking  ? 

Yet  little  by  little — the  result,  perhaps,  of  the  new  apathy 
that  was  claiming  him — he  found  himself  beginning  to  regard 
the  career  of  Madden  with  something  of  the  contemptuous 
pity  which  marked  Lenwood’s  attitude ; Madden  was 
wretchedly  foredoomed  to  failure,  and  it  didn’t  really  matter 
much  what  happened  to  him  ; he  had  ‘ gone  under.’  He 
was  aroused  from  this  indifference,  however,  when  he  thought 
of  what  Rosalind  would  say  if  she  could  know  the  whole 
tragedy ; and  then  he  half-realised  that  he  himself  had 
changed  in  some  strange  manner,  and  that  there  were  certain 
flaws  in  Lenwood’s  stern  theory  of  life.  How  her  eyes  would 
have  blazed  if  she  could  have  heard  of  that  process  of  slow 
torture  ! If  she  had  been  a boy,  he  knew,  she  would  have 
done  anything  to  save  even  Madden  from  the  least  pain. 
Her  standard  for  things  was  right,  and  yet — when  you  were 
at  school  all  the  old  standards  did  seem  to  alter  most  strangely! 
his  father’s,  for  instance,  seemed  to  have  neither  rhyme 
nor  reason  as  soon  as  you  were  within  the  four  walls  of  the 
quad.  Oh  ! after  all,  why  bother  about  standards  ? Why 
think  at  all  ? School  was  really  pleasanter  when  you  didn’t 
think,  but  just  drifted.  Yet  thinking  used  to  be  such  happi- 
ness ; could  a place  where  it  wTas  better  not  to  think  except 
about  everyday  events  be  really  right  ? It  was  certainly 
better  not  to  think  about  Madden,  nor  about  the  tormentors, 
though  the  latter,  apparently,  were  inevitable  in  school  life. 
All  boys,  said  Lenwood  (now  aged  seventeen),  were  either 


102 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


beasts  or  worms  or  geese.  The  geese  were  most  numerous, 
and  usually  followed  and  applauded  the  beasts.  And  what 
about  Arbuthnot  and  Tellier  ? asked  Denis.  Oh,  Arbuthnot 
was  such  a grand  beast  that  he  never  bothered  to  be  beastly, 
and  Tellier, — Lenwood  wasn’t  sure,  he  admitted,  about 
Tellier.  He  was  waiting  to  know  him  better.  And  then, 
of  course,  Tellier  was  a Frenchman.  He  would  become  a 
beast  as  soon  as  he  grew  up.  That  was  the  real  difference 
between  the  English  and  the  French  ; all  Englishmen  were 
beasts  when  they  were  boys,  and  all  French  boys  became 
beasts  when  they  grew  to  manhood.  O monstrous,  stale, 
unprofitable  world  ! 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


103 


XII 

THE  adult  intellect,  which  seems  to  its  possessor  to  be 
lost  in  a long  monotony  of  grey  and  profitless  days, 
can  always  find  consolation  in  the  knowledge  that  life,  even 
in  its  drearier  backwaters,  is  so  shining  and  splendid  an  affair 
that  some  spiritual  adventure  is  certain  to  arrive  before  long  ; 
but  to  the  eager,  short-sighted  vision  of  immaturity  a period 
of  monotonous  reiteration  is  depressing  to  the  last  degree, 
and  the  hope  of  change  seems  to  be  mocked  by  every  detail 
of  the  day’s  routine.  Time,  that  terrific  phantom  which 
only  exists  when  one  begins  to  meditate  on  its  monstrous 
identity,  stands  immovable  for  those  who  count  the  hours 
instead  of  using  them,  and  the  preposterous  truth  that  there 
are  only  one  hundred  and  sixty-eight  of  these  enemies  in  a 
week  lends  heavy  importance  to  a couple  of  dozen  of  them. 

Denis,  as  we  have  seen,  had  contrived  to  drift  very  soon 
into  a condition  of  comfortable  apathy.  For  the  first  few 
weeks  of  term  the  days  seemed  to  flit  past  on  noiseless  wings, 
and  he  felt  as  if  he  would  be  quite  content  to  spend  his  life 
in  the  same  state,  doing  easy  things  easily,  wishing  for 
nothing  unattainable,  and  living  as  free  from  individual 
effort  as  a wheel  in  a watch.  But  after  a while  the  haunting 
memory  of  certain  events  in  his  holidays  became  fixed  in  the 
narrow  landscape  of  his  experience  ; his  mind  was  filled  with 
the  echoes  of  old  laughter  and  old  songs,  and  one  morning  he 
woke  to  find  that  all  the  pleasure  which  he  really  cared  to 
recall  had  been  born  in  the  cottage  which  the  Duroys  should 
surely  have  christened  Paradis  rather  than  Parnasse. 
Better  than  the  voice  of  the  winds  and  the  sunset  glow  on 
dark  woods  was  the  memory  of  that  irresponsible  household 
and  its  gentle  and  friendly  ways  ; better  than  all  the  waters 
of  oblivion  which  flowed  in  the  smooth  stream  of  a regulated 
life  was  the  bitter  longing  for  that  sudden,  brief  draught  of 


104 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


joy.  From  that  moment  his  apathy  melted  like  ice  in  spring, 
and  he  began  to  count  the  hours,  which  promptly  took 
their  revenge  for  this  familiarity.  The  change  in  his  tem- 
perament became  obvious.  Before,  when  he  had  been 
merely  apathetic,  he  had  worked  steadily,  though  without 
enthusiasm,  at  the  ordinary  routine,  and  had  practised  the 
piano  until  the  old  music-master  was  almost  tempted  to 
describe  him  in  a report  as  conscientious  ; now,  he  lost  places 
rapidly  in  form,  and  improved  wonderfully  as  regards  musical 
expression,  although  he  neglected  to  practise  scales. 

Perhaps,  too,  other  and  obscure  influences  were  at  work 
within  him.  Certainly  there  was  a new  voice  in  the  wind 
that  haunted  the  dormitory  chimneys,  and  the  pallid  sun- 
light of  early  spring  lit  up  the  fields  as  he  returned  from  the 
football-field  or  a cross-country  run.  Even  the  rain  had  no 
longer  the  pitiless  depression  of  November,  but  made  one 
think  that  it  came  to  awake  the  sleeping  things  of  earth, 
and  not  to  strip  the  reluctant  leaves  and  make  the  paths  foul. 
Every  Sunday,  as  he  walked  with  Lenwood,  Denis  saw  some 
new  colour  in  the  garment  of  earth,  but  he  thought  the 
country  which  surrounded  the  school  the  flattest  and  dullest 
place  imaginable,  and  only  took  an  interest  in  the  shy  green 
things  that  were  coming  to  life  in  the  hedgerows  because 
they  were  a kind  of  testimony  to  all  that  was  happening  in 
the  valley  at  home.  Lenwood  condescended  to  tell  him  the 
names  of  certain  obscure  plants,  and  informed  him  that  an 
interest  in  such  objects  stamped  him  finally  and  irrevocably 
as  the  finest  possible  specimen  of  the  genus  worm. 

Long  before,  when  he  had  been  a very  small  boy  indeed, 
Denis  had  been  possessed  on  certain  occasions  with  a tremend- 
ous sense  that  something  exciting  or  uncomfortable  was  going 
to  happen.  It  was  a sense  which  seemed,  to  the  probably 
partial  estimate  of  his  older  days,  never  to  have  played  him 
false  ; something  always  did  happen, — something  pleasant, 
occasionally ; but  more  often  something  perturbing, — 
perhaps  the  arrival  of  his  aunt  with  the  nasty  little  girl 
who  wore  buttoned  boots  and  had  a peevish  voice.  He  could 
never  exactly  define  this  prophetic  sensation,  but  it  made 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


105 


him  feel  as  if  his  soul  was  holding  its  breath.  Latterly  he 
had  lost  all  but  a very  faint  hint  of  this  old  sense,  but  in  the 
second  of  his  terms  at  school — the  Easter  term — it  returned 
with  a violence  that  was  quite  aggressive.  Something  huge 
was  going  to  happen  this  time,  he  knew,  and  he  neglected 
work  and  was  listless  at  play,  because  he  was  wondering 
what  great  event  threatened  him  with  its  shadow.  The 
smooth-slipping  weeks,  however,  went  by  without  anything 
to  break  their  monotony  ; and  from  wondering  whether  the 
impending  event  would  be  pleasant  or  the  reverse,  Denis 
passed  to  a state  of  passionate  fear  that  nothing  would 
happen  after  all.  If  it  didn't  happen,  he  felt, — if  something 
splendid  or  terrible  didn't  come  to  deliver  him  from  the 
intolerable  counting  of  heavy  hours, — there  would  be  only 
one  thing  left  to  do.  He  would  justify  his  prophetic  instinct 
in  the  manner  of  the  truly  wise  prophet ; he  would  make  the 
tremendous  thing  happen  through  some  action  of  his  own. 

Meanwhile  the  memory  of  Parnasse  became  more  and  more 
an  obsession.  Before  half  the  term  was  over  he  was  per- 
suaded that  he  could  remember  every  word  uttered  by  Rosalind 
on  every  occasion  when  he  had  seen  her,  and  every  gesture, 
extravagant  or  decorous,  of  her  father.  As  for  Narcisse 
and  Marie,  they  were  perpetual  phantoms  of  delight ; he 
could  actually  see  them  if  he  closed  his  eyes  when  he  was  in 
form.  It  was  owing  to  this  happy  gift  of  retrospective 
clairvoyance,  perhaps,  that  he  was  described  briefly  by  his 
form-master  in  the  half-term  report  as  an  unemotional  and 
somewhat  sleepy  boy.  He  showed  immense  interest  in  the 
music  which  had  been  played  by  Mr.  Duroy  and  Rosalind 
during  the  Christmas  holidays,  but  could  not  be  induced  to 
take  any  trouble  over  the  technical  difficulties  of  other  works. 
The  music-master  found  no  further  reason  for  describing 
him  as  possessed  of  a conscience,  but  that  singular  adjunct 
to  his  personality  began  to  reproach  him,  though  only  at 
intervals,  with  the  strange  fact  that  all  his  retrospective 
vision  was  concentrated  on  Parnasse,  and  closed  its  eyes 
on  his  father  and  his  father's  house.  The  hot  blood  would 
rush  to  his  cheeks  as  he  lay  awake  at  night  and  meditated 


io6 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


over  this  mental  perfidy.  He  loved  his  father,  he  told  him- 
self, as  much  as  ever  ; yet  the  envelopes  which  brought 
Dr.  Yorke's  letters  seemed  to  contain  also  an  evil  imp  who 
sat  on  his  shoulder  for  the  next  twelve  hours  and  contrived 
to  depress  him  vaguely.  The  letters  were  full  of  advice 
which  had  no  sort  of  bearing  on  his  actual  life,  but  Denis  did 
not  resent  this.  The  same  thing  happened  to  other  fellows  ; 
Lenwood’s  people,  for  instance,  were  for  ever  exhorting  their 
bookish  son  towards  extreme  athletic  excellence.  Lenwood 
would  read  the  exhortations  to  Denis,  and  laugh  in  a way  that 
made  the  younger  boy  wonder  why  he  really  liked  him. 
Denis  would  have  died  rather  than  confess  to  Lenwood  that 
there  were  certain  things  in  the  letters  from  his  father  which 
had  a remarkable  resemblance  to  sententious  passages  in  the 
improving  pamphlets  beloved  by  Miss  Bowman  ; pompous 
phrases  which,  Denis  felt,  ought  to  have  been  sent  to  some 
one  else,  for  they  were  mere  dead  words  to  him.  ‘ Be  true 
to  yourself,  then  I can  have  no  fears  for  you/  wrote  Dr. 
Yorke ; but  what  was  the  use  of  such  advice  when  the  boy  was 
becoming  gradually  convinced  that  his  father  knew  nothing 
of  the  self  about  which  he  spoke  ? Denis  felt  that  there 
might  have  been  some  value  in  the  sentence  if  a father  had 
written  it  after  reading  a diary  in  which  a son's  hopes  and 
desires  and  shifting  interests  had  been  faithfully  chronicled ; 
but  to  ask  some  one  to  be  true  to  something  which  you  didn't 
understand, — this  wasn’t  giving  good  counsel,  it  was  only 
setting  an  intolerable  conundrum.  In  despair,  he  tried 
to  put  himself  in  sympathy  with  his  father's  attitude  of 
mind  while  he  wrote  ; tried  to  evoke  an  actual  vision  of 
his  expression  as  he  sat  over  the  letter  in  the  study  at  the 
Red  House,  and  was  more  bewildered  than  ever.  Did 
people  always  become  so  different  from  their  ordinary  selves 
the  moment  they  set  pen  to  paper,  or  was  it  the  real  self  that 
came  out  at  last  ? He  had  never  left  home  before  going  to 
school,  and  so  was  quite  unfamiliar  with  this  literary  aspect 
of  his  father. 

A question  of  this  kind,  at  any  rate,  was  a durable  form  of 
self-torture,  and  he  began  to  combat  it  more  and  more  with 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


107 


warm  reminiscence  of  Parnasse  and  with  counting  the  hours 
until  he  re-invaded  those  artistic  portals.  His  old  sense, 
too,  of  some  imminent  event  had  not  played  him  false. 
The  Toad,  after  affording  a few  more  weeks  of  amusement 
to  the  tormentors,  was  found  one  afternoon  by  a horrified 
small  boy  in  one  of  the  Heath  ponds  with  his  heels  in  the  air 
and  his  face  hidden  among  weeds  and  mud.  The  small  boy 
had  sufficient  presence  of  mind  to  haul  him  to  dry  land  and 
to  rush  for  help  ; and  artificial  respiration  restored  the  Toad 
to  a world  that  had  invariably  given  him  more  kicks  than 
caresses.  He  spent  ten  days,  possibly  the  most  peaceful 
of  his  life,  in  a comatose  condition  amongst  the  luxuries  of 
the  Sanatorium,  and  then  died  quite  suddenly  when  no  one 
was  in  his  room.  The  School  attended  his  funeral,  and 
Denis  saw  the  Toad’s  father,  a handsome  old  gentleman  of 
military  aspect,  walking  rather  stiffly  behind  the  coffin,  which 
was  covered  with  a huge  wreath  from  Lister’s  house.  He 
also  saw  two  of  the  Tormentors,  who  were  in  the  choir,  singing 
On  the  Resurrection  Morning , and  wondered  how  they  felt. 

The  house,  of  course,  commented  freely  on  the  event ; and 
the  general  consensus  of  opinion  was  that,  after  all,  it  was  about 
the  best  thing  that  could  happen  to  the  Toad.  Jolly  bad 
luck,  of  course,  dying  before  you  had  any  fun,  but  he  would 
never  have  done  any  good.  Pretty  ghastly,  though,  that 
old  chap  behind  the  coffin.  You ’d  never  have  thought  that 
the  Toad’s  father  would  be  like  that.  He  was  his  only  son, 
too  ; still  he  must  have  made  him  awfully  sick.  Old  Lister 
looked  quite  old  and  different.  Williams  said  that  he  saw 
him  blubbing  in  chapel.  Arbuthnot  said  in  dormitory  last 
night  that  it  was  a rotten  thing  to  happen  for  the  house. 
Do  you  think  it  got  into  the  papers  that  he  tried  to  commit 
suicide  ? It  wasn’t  suicide,  was  it  ? I think  he  just  fell  in 
and  lay  there  ; had  a fit,  you  know.  Perhaps  he  was  put  in. 
Oh,  shut  up  ! that ’s  a putrid  thing  to  say  ! And  so  on, 
until  Sports  day  arrived  and  the  Toad  and  his  tragedy  rested 
in  peace. 

The  affair  had  a serious  effect  on  the  nerves  of  at  least 
one  member  of  his  house.  Denis,  since  he  could  remember, 


io8 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


had  never  been  near  death,  and  all  the  dismal  circumstances 
preyed  on  his  mind  until  he  could  neither  eat  nor  sleep. 
The  last  mournful  pageant,  with  the  whole  School  paraded 
in  honour  of  the  strange  dead  thing  which  they  had  scorned 
when  it  could  move  and  speak,  seemed  to  him  a triumph  of 
irony  ; he  had  a sudden  idea  that  inside  the  coffin  the  Toad 
was  chuckling  in  his  old  dreadful  way  because  the  great 
Arbuthnot  was  standing  bareheaded  and  solemn  in  his 
honour  ; and  he  thought  the  obsequious  undertakers,  who 
hoisted  the  body  from  the  trestles  with  a loudly  whispered 
‘ One,  two,  three/  were  not  like  men,  but  seemed  rather  to  be 
black  and  sinister  spirits  who  took  possession  of  the  dead 
with  a terrible  kind  of  professional  nonchalance.  When 
it  was  all  over  he  astonished  the  impassive  Lenwood  by 
abandoning  himself  to  a long  paroxysm  of  hysterical  laughter, 
and  for  days  afterwards  he  went  his  various  ways  with  the 
eyes  of  one  who  walks  in  sleep.  There  were  apparently 
other  things  in  life  than  Dr.  Yorke’s  phrases  which  were 
meaningless. 

He  became  listless  and  irritable,  went  down  steadily  in 
his  form,  and  played  games  with  about  as  much  enthusiasm 
as  a prisoner  would  feel  on  the  treadmill.  His  form-master, 
a person  distinguished  neither  by  sympathy  nor  scholarship, 
began  to  regard  him  as  lawful  prey,  and  his  health  left  him  ; 
he  knew  the  peculiar  sensation  of  wrestling  with  overdue 
impositions  when  his  head  was  aching,  and  all  his  limbs 
were  oppressed  with  heavy  languor.  The  only  consolation 
that  he  found  was  derived  from  the  books  lent  to  him  by 
Lenwood  ; but  it  was  an  anodyne  which  cost  him  dear,  for 
he  began  to  read  them  when  he  ought  to  have  been  preparing 
work  and  to  dream  of  them  whilst  lessons  were  heard.  He 
relapsed  into  his  old  loneliness,  shunning  even  Lenwood, 
whose  calm  attitude  of  attainment  filled  him  with  helpless 
envy.  His  own  mind  was  a whirl  of  shifting  opinions,  and  if 
a healing  thought  came  to  him  some  tormenting  devil  seemed 
to  whisper  that  it  was  baseless  and  foolish.  Amid  the  wild 
ebb  and  flow  of  his  emotions  two  things  only  gradually 
became  certain  : that  school  was  a beastly  place  where  the 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


109 

weak  were  tortured  until  they  died,  and  that  he  himself  was 
sick  to  death  of  it. 

Dr.  Yorke  heard  of  the  tragedy  of  the  Toad,  and  wrote  about 
it  to  Denis  at  some  length.  ' A bright  lad  cut  off  so  suddenly 
in  his  happy  youth, — what  a terrible  lesson  to  you  all  ! ’ 
were  his  sentiments.  Denis  tried,  and  failed,  to  see  where 
the  lesson  lay  if  one  took  this  impossible  view  of  Madden’s 
personality.  If  his  father  had  known  the  truth  and  had 
written,  ‘ A wretched,  half-witted  creature  persecuted  beyond 
endurance  and  allowed  by  God  to  get  free  from  cruelty  for 
ever/  there  might  have  been  some  sense  in  his  comment. 
The  headmaster  preached  a sermon  the  main  argument  of 
which  was  that,  as  they  had  seen,  any  one  might  die  at  any 
moment,  and  therefore  every  one  ought  to  be  spiritually 
ready,  which  seemed  to  be  sound  reasoning  ; but  as  Denis 
glanced  at  the  impassively  decorous  faces  of  the  School,  he  felt 
that  a man  even  greater  than  the  Head  might  have  used 
words  more  simple  and  more  in  relation  with  that  particular 
phase  of  life  to  which  they  were  supposed  to  apply. 

A rather  trivial  incident  contrived  to  be  a factor  in  Denis’s 
general  condition  of  unrest.  A certain  boy  named  Halliwell, 
an  overgrown  and  rather  stupid  member  of  Lister’s,  was  in  his 
form,  and,  from  motives  that  were  not  wholly  disinterested, 
worked  with  him  during  preparation.  In  order  to  become 
more  deeply  acquainted  with  the  beauties  of  the  classic  writers 
Halliwell  made  use  of  certain  inaccurate  and  lifeless  transla- 
tions which  were  forbidden  by  school  rules.  Denis  had  no 
inordinate  moral  scruples  with  regard  to  this  procedure  ; 
if  you  had  to  get  up  a lesson,  and  a crib  saved  you  from 
impositions  and  other  woes,  it  seemed  to  him  that  a crib 
was  possibly  legitimate.  There  was  no  question  of  unfair 
advantage  being  attained  by  its  employment,  for  every  one 
could  use  it,  and  most  people  did  so.  But  he  had  found  that 
Halliwell’s  trusty  staff  proved  a broken  reed  in  the  hands  of 
its  employer,  and  always  preferred  to  elucidate  Homer  with 
the  commonplace  aid  of  a dictionary  and  a grammar.  On 
one  occasion  Halliwell  was  sitting  by  his  side  during  prepara- 
tion, and  since  he  had  passed  the  first  half-hour  in  drawing 


I IO 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


up  imaginary  football  teams  in  which  his  own  name  figured 
prominently  amongst  various  internationals,  he  found  him- 
self at  the  end  of  it  with  rather  less  time  than  usual  for 
preparing  the  lesson,  and  was  unable  to  find  the  place  in  his 
crib.  He  pushed  it  over  to  Denis  with  the  request  that  he 
would  help  him,  and  at  that  moment  the  preparation  master 
saw  those  well-thumbed  contraband  sheets,  and  swooped 
like  an  eagle. 

‘ Yorke,'  he  said,  4 is  this  your  property  ? * 

Denis  waited  for  a moment  to  see  if  Halliwell  was  inclined 
to  come  to  his  assistance,  but  Halliwell  was  mute  as  the 
unresponsive  tomb.  Denis  thought  the  matter  over  briefly, 
and  then  answered,  ‘ Yes,  sir.' 

‘ Ha  ! a useful  little  work/  said  the  master,  ominously 
facetious  * 4 but  one,  I 'm  afraid,  which  is  not  to  be  found 
in  the  Book-room.  For  how  long  have  you  been  engaged  in 
studying  it  ? ' 

Denis  felt  reckless  because  he  was  angry  with  Halliwell 

‘ Oh,  most  of  the  term,  sir/  he  answered.  At  least  he  could 
show  Halliwell  that  some  people  weren't  cowards.  But  he 
rather  overdid  his  note  of  defiance.  The  master  frowned, 
and  began  writing  in  a note-book. 

‘ You  will  take  this  to  your  housemaster,'  he  said,  ‘ and  to- 
morrow at  eleven  you  will  go  up  to  the  headmaster.  For 
a boy  in  his  second  term  you  seem  to  be  remarkably  mature. 
Meanwhile  you  can  stand  out  in  the  middle  of  the  room.' 

Denis  obeyed,  drearily  conscious  that  one  more  cloud 
was  added  to  the  grim  skies  of  the  life  which  he  was  beginning 
to  detest.  He  went  to  Mr.  Lister's  room  next  morning,  and 
saw  that  eccentric  person  in  a new  light.  Lister  spoke  to 
him  with  none  of  his  usual  circumlocution,  but  gave  him  five 
minutes  of  very  pointed  monologue.  Thence  Denis  pro- 
ceeded to  the  headmaster,  who  set  him  an  enormous  im- 
position, and  threatened  awful  chastisement  if  the  offence 
was  repeated.  Denis  emerged  into  the  quad  with  the 
sensation  that  he  was  a notorious  member  of  the  lapsed  and 
lost.  In  the  form-room  he  met  Halliwell,  who,  with  rather 
belated  decency,  offered  to  do  half  the  imposition  ; as  if  it 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


1 1 1 

was  the  actual  penalty  that  hurt  one  in  a case  of  this  kind  ! 
But  some  of  the  boys  in  the  form-room  knew  the  truth,  and 
administered  righteous  kicks  to  Halliwell,  and  destroyed 
his  library  of  translations.  So  that  Halliwell  remained  at 
the  bottom  of  the  form,  was  duly  superannuated,  and  went  to 
Ceylon  to  practise  agriculture  with  his  uncle. 

Denis  found  a certain  consolation  in  telling  the  whole  story 
to  Lenwood,  though  Lenwood,  on  the  whole,  was  unsym- 
pathetic. ‘ Regular  Boy's  Own  Paper  sort  of  chivalry/ 
he  said  ; ‘ you  ought  to  have  sat  tight  till  the  little  beast 
was  asked  if  it  was  his  crib  and  had  to  own  up.  What 's 
the  use  of  a sensible  person  sacrificing  himself  for  the  sake 
of  an  idiot  ? The  idiots  never  do  anything  for  the  decent 
people  ; if  the  whole  thing  had  been  the  other  way  on,  Halli- 
well would  have  said  it  was  your  crib  without  hesitating  a 
moment/  This  was  probably  untrue,  but  it  impressed  Denis 
with  a sense  of  the  futility  of  his  sacrifice  and  of  everything 
in  general.  Tellier  alone  brought  comfort  to  his  heart  with 
a few  random  words.  / Hear  you  Ve  been  up  to  the  great 
arch-fiend/  he  said  when  he  met  Denis  one  day  ; ‘ Bohn's 
translations  ; I know  them  well,  they  're  the  one  joy  of  my 
barren  and  profitless  existence.  You  're  becoming  quite 
one  of  us.  Don't  look  so  serious,  old  Curds  told  me  all  about 
it.  Rather  decent  of  you,  the  world  thinks,  but  you  are 
decent.  My  sweet  cousin  says  so  in  her  foolish  feminine 
language.  He  knocks  the  cocoanut,  rings  the  bell,  and 
receives  the  gold-mounted-walking-stick  and  twenty-four- 
hour-nickel-silver-armorial-timepiece,  she  says,  meaning  you. 
Good-bye.  I 'm  going  to  read  my  Bohn  in  the  study. 
What 's  read  in  the  Bohn  will  come  out  in  the  form.  Come 
and  have  tea  on  Saturday.' 

But  not  even  an  occasional  meeting  with  Tellier  could 
avail  to  exorcise  the  restless  spirit  that  haunted  Denis ; the 
mere  sight  of  that  wonderful  person  seemed  to  emphasise 
the  dullness  of  his  ordinary  acquaintance,  and  he  found 
himself  on  several  occasions  almost  disliking  Lenwood  because 
his  point  of  view  was  so  different  from  that  of  the  people  who 
lived  at  Parnasse.  His  critical  instinct  was  developing  with 


1 12 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


extraordinary  rapidity  ; in  spite  of  himself,  he  found  that  he 
set  up  a tremendous  standard  of  perfection  for  every  one,  and 
that  they  all  fell  short  of  it. 

The  obscure  unrest  in  his  soul  increased  with  the  coming 
of  spring.  There  were  certain  evenings  in  March  when, 
after  a day  of  rain,  the  sky  beyond  the  drifting  clouds  was 
magnificent  with  sudden  stars,  and  the  wind  had  a pure 
fragrance  that  was  born  on  great  plains  and  icy  Alpine 
fastnesses.  Its  voice,  on  nights  like  these,  would  fill  him 
with  the  same  strange  ecstasy  that  he  felt  when  he  heard 
great  music  ; a half  - delicious,  half  - intolerable  yearning 
would  possess  him,  and  on  several  occasions  he  was  overcome 
with  a very  boyish  kind  of  shame  because  his  eyes  were  dim 
with  inexplicable  tears,  and  his  heart  was  beating  wildly. 
How  the  fellows  in  Lister's  would  laugh,  he  thought,  if  they 
knew  of  this  ! But  he  was  beginning  to  grow  reconciled  to 
the  dreadful  truth  that  there  was  some  defect  in  his  tempera- 
ment which  made  him  an  alien  in  the  school ; all  the  influ- 
ences which  gave  him  a joy  in  living  would  be  quite  incom- 
prehensible to  boys  and  masters  ; even  Lenwood  was  dead 
to  them,  and  read  his  everlasting  books  without  looking  up 
at  the  elusive  wonder  of  the  hedgerows  and  the  faint  greys 
and  greens  that  hung  like  mist  about  the  woodlands. 

Little  as  he  knew  it,  his  whole  life  had  been  a search  for 
consolation  ; for  an  antidote,  at  first,  against  the  loneliness 
of  his  childhood,  and  now  for  a spiritual  retreat  into  which 
he  could  withdraw  when  he  was  almost  lost  in  the  labyrinth 
of  routine.  Nature  and  music  had  hinted  their  secrets  to  him 
at  the  age  when  a more  robust  lad  in  a more  normal  environ- 
ment would  have  been  gloriously  content  with  cricket-bats 
and  fishing-rods  ; he  had  found  such  actual  happiness  in  being 
alone  on  the  hills  that  the  love  of  liberty  had  become  an 
instinct,  and  now  that  circumstances  prevented  him  from 
gratifying  the  instinct  his  hitherto  tranquil  spirit  rose  in 
rebellion.  Added  to  this  was  the  fact  that  he  had  met 
certain  persons  who  seemed  to  him  the  living  embodiment 
of  perfection,  and  owed  another  grudge  to  school  for  dividing 
him  from  them.  His  youth  denied  him  the  power  of  looking 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


ii3 

serenely  ahead ; and  to  his  mind,  so  precociously  sensitive, 
so  tragically  immature  in  its  incapacity  to  realise  the  immense 
part  played  in  life  by  renunciation,  existence  seemed  to  him 
a hopeless  strife  in  which  the  arbitrary  rules  of  his  father 
and  of  school  were  opposed  to  him  in  terrible  array.  Every 
one  who  knew  him  except  Gabriel  Searle  would  have  been 
immensely  surprised  if  they  could  have  discovered  the  fire 
that  burned  beneath  that  delicate  and  almost  placid  exterior. 
The  masters  especially — those  carelessly  chosen  shepherds 
of  so  delicate  a flock — would  have  been  completely  baffled 
by  his  malady  ; to  them  he  would  indeed  seem  to  have  eaten 
of  the  insane  root,  for  he  was  not  ill-treated  in  the  house  or 
the  form-room,  his  impositions,  a recent  development,  were 
only  the  common  lot  of  boyhood,  and  he  was  a passable 
athlete  for  his  age.  It  was  ridiculous,  they  would  have  said, 
for  a small  boy  to  kick  against  the  pricks  and  possess  an 
abnormally  developed  individuality.  He  was  obviously  a 
foolish  little  prig  who  would  grow  out  of  his  idiocy  in  time. 
But  Denis  was  not  a prig  ; he  was  only  a sensitive  small  boy 
to  whom  solitude  had  given  a mental  development  which  had 
nothing  in  common  with  what  the  world  calls  experience, 
and  also,  he  was  an  artist  already  ; an  artist  whose  instinct 
was  rapidly  awaking,  but  had  not  yet  found  its  particular 
and  appropriate  form  of  expression.  Music  was  still  too 
much  a matter  of  scales  and  exercises  to  evoke  a complete 
responsiveness  in  his  temperament. 

Even  after  the  mournful  tragedy  of  the  Toad,  his  sense 
that  something  terrific  was  about  to  happen  did  not  leave 
him,  and  he  knew  that  until  this  fatal  anticipation  was  ful- 
filled he  would  continue  to  grow  more  and  more  restless  and 
miserable.  Even  tea  in  Tellier’s  study  failed  to  cheer  him  ; 
he  could  only  look  with  a kind  of  dull  envy  on  the  spectacle 
of  his  host’s  incomparable  joie  de  vivre.  There  were  mocking 
voices  in  the  March  wind,  and  when  he  walked  with  Lenwood 
on  Sunday  the  school  seemed  to  drag  at  his  feet  like  a gigantic 
fetter.  He  was  wholly  reticent  about  his  own  sensations, 
and  Lenwood  found  his  company  somewhat  depressing. 


H 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


114 


XIII 

BECAUSE  he  was  distracted  and  unhappy,  he  con- 
trived to  drop  into  many  little  pitfalls  which  more 
wicked  and  more  wily  boys  would  have  avoided  successfully  ; 
and  the  punishments  that  followed  curtailed  his  scanty  leisure 
and  quickened  his  sense  of  the  general  injustice  of  life.  A 
glib  lie  would  have  delivered  him  from  many  difficulties,  but 
he  was  not  a liar  ; that  form  of  cunning  seemed  to  him  to 
demand  such  a tremendous  amount  of  mental  exertion.  He 
began  to  look  on  the  artifices  of  certain  boys — such  as  Chal- 
loner,  for  instance,  whom  Dr.  Yorke  regarded  as  a really  noble 
specimen  of  adolescence — with  a somewhat  bitter  amusement. 

Challoner's  language  was  nasty,  and  his  life,  it  was  believed, 
even  nastier ; but  he  was  a big,  handsome  fellow  with  a 
smooth  manner,  and  was  quite  popular  with  the  masters  and 
their  wives.  Dr.  Yorke  nearly  always  inquired  after  him 
when  he  wrote,  and  lately  Denis  had  been  visited  with  a mad 
impulse  to  report,  in  the  nervous  English  of  a public  school, 
all  that  was  so  confidently  rumoured  about  his  father's  hero. 
He  refrained,  however,  from  discharging  this  thunderbolt, 
and  replied  that  Challoner  was  quite  well,  and  was  a favourite 
for  the  school  quarter-mile.  Perhaps  he  expressed  himself 
curtly,  for  Dr.  Yorke  wrote  in  his  next  letter  : — ‘ Don't  let 
the  success  of  others  discourage  you  ; it  sounded  as  if  you 
were  rather — not  exactly  jealous  of  Bob  Challoner — but  in- 
clined to  be  unwilling  to  do  more  than  just  mention  his  suc- 
cesses. I know  that  before  long  I shall  hear  of  my  boy 
achieving  the  same  distinctions.  You  seem  to  be  having  a 
very  pleasant  life  ; don't  neglect  the  more  serious  side.  The 
half-term  report  must  be  improved  on.  God  bless  you,  my 
dear  boy.'  Dr.  Yorke  seemed  to  possess  a capacity  beyond 
the  wont  of  Puritans  for  delivering  a blow  and  a blessing  at 
the  same  instant. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


ii5 

This  letter  arrived  on  a Saturday  morning,  and  at  eleven 
o'clock  on  the  same  day  Denis  received  a harangue  from  Mr. 
Lister,  to  whom  he  had  taken  an  unfavourable  report  from  his 
form-master.  Perhaps  if  Mr.  Lister  had  not  been  obliged  to 
deliver  a similar  oration  to  at  least  half  a dozen  boys  in  the 
course  of  a quarter  of  an  hour,  he  would  have  realised  that 
Denis  was  rather  a special  case,  and  would  have  tempered  his 
eloquence  with  tactful  advice  ; perhaps,  too,  if  Denis  had 
been  in  an  ordinary  condition  of  mental  health  he  would  have 
observed  that  Mr.  Lister  was  only  airing  his  taste  for  pictur- 
esque and  hyperbolical  invective.  As  it  was,  the  master 
thought  the  boy  a sulky  little  brute,  and  the  boy  thought 
the  master  a blundering  old  lunatic  ; for  Mr.  Lister,  in  the 
heat  and  hurry  of  the  moment,  read  a slightly  sinister  meaning 
into  certain  phrases  of  the  report,  and  Denis  did  not  attempt 
to  correct  his  error. 

He  went  out  of  the  study  with  new  fuel  added  to  the 
smouldering  fire  within  him.  Oh  ! to  flee  away  and  be  at 
rest  from  this  perpetual  round  of  misunderstanding  and 
petty  trouble  ; to  climb  some  immense  mountain  that  towered 
serenely  above  a hateful  world,  and  lie  down  and  die  ! His 
mind  had  scarcely  formulated  this  depressing  desire,  when  he 
collided  violently  with  some  one  who  was  coming  quickly 
down  the  passage,  heavy-laden  with  books.  The  books  flew 
to  the  ground,  and  Denis  saw  that  their  bearer  was  an 
unamiable  youth  named  Pinker,  who  had  formerly  been  a 
conspicuous  member  of  the  tormentors.  Pinker  wasted 
no  words  over  the  situation,  but  flew  at  Denis  and  boxed 
his  ears  with  excessive  violence.  The  blows  sent  Denis 
staggering  against  the  wall,  and  Pinker,  being  fearful 
lest  Mr.  Lister  should  emerge  from  the  study,  gathered  up 
his  books  with  one  sweep  of  his  arm  and  vanished  into  the 
dormitory. 

Denis  had  prepared  the  work  for  third  lesson  with  care 
and  interest,  but  he  descended  quickly  to  the  bottom  of  the 
form,  and  remained  there.  His  soul  was  full  of  a dull,  un- 
reasoning fury  ; his  head  ached,  and  every  living  thing 
seemed  a malignant  member  of  some  monstrous  coalition 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


1 16 

that  had  marked  him  as  its  victim.  He  had  gone  too  far 
down  the  path  of  dejection  to  be  able  to  console  himself  with 
the  thought  of  anything  that  he  had  once  found  pleasant ; 
he  cut  his  music  lesson,  which  was  fixed  for  half-past  twelve, 
and  spent  the  hour  of  freedom  before  dinner  in  sitting  at  a 
desk  in  the  empty  form-room  with  his  head  on  his  hands. 
At  dinner  he  ate  nothing  and  spoke  to  no  one,  and  when  it 
was  over  he  walked  like  a somnambulist  out  of  the  quad  to  the 
terrace  that  overlooked  the  playing-fields. 

It  was  one  of  those  days  which  give  March  a claim  to  be 
reckoned  as  part  of  spring,  in  spite  of  blustering  winds  and 
heartless  reversions  to  snow-showers  and  dark  skies.  The 
bright,  pale  sunlight  flooded  the  fields,  the  dark  boughs  were 
silhouetted  sharp  and  intense  against  the  clear  blue  of  the 
sky,  and  the  birds  were  singing  in  the  trees.  A small  tortoise- 
shell butterfly,  which  had  been  tempted  from  winter  quarters 
by  the  soft  air,  fluttered  across  the  terrace  in  search  of  non- 
existent flowers,  and  alighted  for  a moment  on  the  path  near 
Denis.  But  Denis  saw  neither  the  sunlight  nor  the  butter- 
fly, and  stalked  along  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  blank  and  impenetrable  barrier  of  the 
future.  He  went  slowly  down  the  terrace,  and  had  nearly 
reached  the  corner,  where  a little  crowd  of  boys  was  con- 
gregated near  the  door  of  the  school  shop,  when  a most  un- 
familiar sound  reached  his  ears,  and  made  him  pause  in  his 
gloomy  progress.  He  listened,  and  realised  that  some  one 
was  playing  a concertina.  A moment  later  he  saw  a group 
of  boys  which  surrounded  the  musician,  a swarthy  lad,  evi- 
dently Italian,  who  swayed  to  and  fro  as  he  played,  and 
smiled  broadly  at  the  circle  of  unresponsive  faces. 

Denis  recognised  him  in  a moment ; it  was  the  cheerful 
optimist  whom  he  had  met  on  the  night  before  he  had  first 
gone  to  school.  He  was  unchanged,  except  that  he  seemed 
somewhat  larger,  and  certainly  more  disreputable.  Ognis- 
santi  sat  on  his  shoulder,  and  stared  apprehensively  at  the 
circle  of  boys.  One  of  them  offered  the  monkey  a banana 
skin  ; the  little  beast  snatched  it  swiftly,  then  flung  it  away 
with  a funny  gesture  of  disdain.  The  boys  laughed,  and  the 


THE  FIRST  ROUND  117 

son  of  the  Pope  grinned  enormously,  and  began  to  sing. 
His  voice  was  excessively  harsh. 

Denis  pushed  his  way  through  the  throng  and  stood  near 
him  ; but  the  Italian  did  not  recognise  the  additional  member 
of  his  audience,  and  continued  to  chant  incomprehensible 
things  through  his  nose.  Presently  he  sent  Ognissanti  to 
collect  pennies ; the  monkey  shambled  round  the  circle, 
holding  out  its  little  feathered  hat  and  looking  forlorn  and 
frightened.  One  of  the  boys  threw  an  old  fives-ball  into  the 
hat,  and  Ognissanti  swore  at  him  in  his  own  language,  so 
that  every  one  except  Denis  laughed.  When  the  collection 
was  over,  the  Italian  swung  his  concertina  on  his  shoulders, 
placed  the  monkey  carefully  on  the  top  of  it,  made  a low 
ironical  bow  to  his  patrons,  and  departed  in  the  direction  of 
the  field  gates.  Denis  watched  him  go  without  attempting 
to  speak  to  him,  but  stood  staring  after  his  diminishing 
figure  long  after  the  little  crowd  near  the  door  of  the  school 
shop  had  dispersed.  After  a while  he  went  on  to  the  terrace. 
The  Italian  had  nearly  reached  the  gates  ; he  was  walking 
with  a long,  swinging  stride,  and  occasionally  he  turned  his 
head  towards  the  monkey  on  his  shoulders.  After  he  had 
passed  through  the  gates,  Denis  could  see  his  figure  sharply 
silhouetted  for  a moment  against  the  pale  afternoon  sky, 
and  then  he  disappeared  beyond  a bend  in  the  road. 

Denis  felt  like  a prisoner  who  in  his  dreams  has  followed 
the  wandering  feet  of  the  spirit  of  liberty.  He  was  conscious 
of  no  amazement  because  of  the  queer  chance  which  had 
again  brought  him  face  to  face  with  the  vagabond  whom  he 
had  met  so  strangely  on  that  wild  September  evening  six 
months  before  ; the  encounter  seemed  to  him  only  a bitter 
and  final  proof  of  the  irony  of  life,  and  fierce  envy  gnawed 
at  his  heart.  There  seemed  to  be  something  fatal  connected 
with  the  appearance  of  this  mysterious  alien  ; he  had  met 
him  twice  ; and  on  each  occasion  his  own  nerves  were  racked 
with  the  strain  of  anticipated  or  actual  durance  ; the  Italian 
seemed  to  be  a visible  embodiment  of  freedom  which  taunted 
him  with  his  own  circumscribed  and  servile  condition.  Where 
was  he  going  ? From  what  strange  hills  would  he  behold 


1 18 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


the  stars  ? Perhaps  even  from  the  hills  of  home,  where  the 
wind  of  March  said  friendly  words  in  a great  and  turbulent 
voice,  and  the  lights  of  Parnasse  were  like  the  eyes  of  friends 
that  watched  for  you  as  you  came.  A sudden  and  irresistible 
yearning  to  see  him  once  more  overwhelmed  Denis  as  he  stood 
on  the  terrace  and  stared  towards  the  deserted  road.  Yes  ; 
whatever  happened,  he  would  go  after  him  and  speak  to  him, 
and  stroke  Ognissanti,  and  hear  of  all  the  places  which  he  had 
visited.  Call-over  was  at  three  o'clock,  but  call-over  didn't 
matter  any  more.  Nothing  mattered,  except  that  he  should 
listen  to  the  voice  of  some  one  who  was  free,  who  had  known 
his  familiar  hills,  and  who  wouldn't  talk  to  him  of  school, 
school,  school. 

He  passed  the  gates,  and  half  walked,  half  ran  down  the 
road  in  the  direction  which  the  Italian  had  taken. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


1 19 


XIV 

DENIS  hurried  blindly  down  the  road  for  two  or  three 
miles.  Not  far  from  the  school  gates  three  boys 
who  belonged  to  his  form  met  him,  and  warned  him  that  it 
was  nearly  the  hour  for  call-over.  He  passed  by  without 
looking  at  them,  and  left  them  speculating  jocosely  on  the 
particular  form  of  madness  which  had  seized  him.  ‘ Yorke  ’s 
getting  sidey/  was  the  verdict,  and  one  of  them  threw  a 
small,  sharp  stone  which  struck  Denis  in  the  back  of  the 
neck.  But  he  seemed  quite  unconscious  of  this  direct  effort 
to  attract  his  attention,  and  pursued  his  way  without  looking 
round.  The  birds  were  singing  in  the  woods,  but  he  had  no 
ears  for  them  ; the  only  sound  that  he  noticed  was  the  voice 
of  a church  clock  which  struck  three.  The  thought  that  it 
was  the  hour  of  call-over  filled  him  with  defiant  joy,  and  he 
hurried  on  still  faster. 

He  saw  no  sign  of  the  Italian.  That  irresponsible  person, 
no  doubt,  was  sitting  on  the  sheltered  side  of  a hedgerow 
sharing  a belated  luncheon  with  Ognissanti.  Gradually, 
however,  the  keen  desire  to  encounter  him  was  superseded 
by  the  ecstasy  of  walking  alone  into  the  unknown,  away 
from  school  and  its  carefully  charted  hours  ; if  he  went  far 
enough,  too,  he  felt  that  he  would  be  certain  to  meet  him  ; 
the  farther  the  better,  since  every  step  seemed  to  exor- 
cise the  spirit  of  depression  which  had  haunted  him  for  so 
long. 

Call-over  was  ended  by  now,  he  knew,  and  an  extraordinary 
paroxysm  of  pleasure  swept  over  him  ; at  last,  after  days 
and  weeks  of  trivial  events,  he  had  done  something  serious 
and  irrevocable, — he  had  asserted  himself.  It  did  not  occur 
to  him  that  from  every  ordinary  point  of  view — from  his  own, 
even,  before  this  madness  of  revolt  came  over  him — he  was 
behaving  in  an  extremely  idiotic  way,  and  that  his  folly  would 


120 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


surely  result  in  an  additional  burden  being  imposed  upon  him 
by  inexorable  authority.  He  felt  only  that  serene  bliss  of 
gratifying  some  irresistible  desire  which  blinds  the  voluptuary 
to  every  aspect  of  its  consequences  ; his  enjoyment  of  this 
draught  of  forbidden  freedom  was  as  sensual  as  it  was  defiant. 
When,  in  the  pageant  of  his  whirling  thoughts,  the  image  of 
his  father  rose  before  his  mental  eye,  it  filled  him  with  no 
remorse,  and  only  quickened  his  antinomian  spirit.  He  was 
utterly  sick  of  being  misunderstood,  of  being  regarded  as  a 
possible  athlete-hero,  a blameless,  ordinary  creature  with  the 
usual  ambitions.  The  news  of  this  escapade  would  at  least 
clear  the  air  ; his  father  would  find  out  at  last  that  Denis 
was  some  one  quite  different  from  the  solid,  respectable 
person  that  he  had  imagined  himself  to  possess  for  a son. 
Denis  marched  gaily  on,  quite  convinced  that  in  doing  so 
he  was  scoring  off  every  one  in  the  world  who  deserved  that 
punishment.  When  he  got  back,  he  told  himself,  he  would 
write  a calm  and  copious  history  of  the  whole  affair,  and  send 
it  home.  ‘ And  I don't  care  when  I get  back,'  he  sang  aloud 
to  a tune  that  was  born  of  the  moment's  exhilaration  ; ‘ I 
don't  care  if  I never  get  back.' 

He  ceased  to  wonder  what  had  become  of  the  Italian,  and 
abandoned  himself  to  the  complete  enjoyment  of  his  new 
sensations.  Presently  he  came  to  a small  railway  station, 
and  the  sight  of  it  gave  him  a delicious  thrill.  Here  was  a 
glorious  chance  for  further  enormity  ! To  take  a train  which 
would  go  anywhere  in  the  world  but  to  school  would  be  a 
really  divine  adventure,  and  as  he  thought  of  it  the  dingy 
station  seemed  to  become  wholly  involved  in  a rosy  halo  of 
romance.  Unfortunately,  when  he  examined  his  pockets 
he  found  that  he  only  possessed  a shilling,  but  already  he  felt 
that  Eldorado  itself  could  only  be  a few  miles  away.  The 
afternoon  was  not  far  advanced  ; he  would  travel  into  some 
unknown  country  by  train,  and  then  continue  to  walk  towards 
the  sunset.  He  terminated  these  reflections  by  going  to  the 
booking-office  and  demanding  where  he  could  go  for  eight- 
pence. 

The  clerk  grinned,  stared  at  his  school  cap,  and  then 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


I 2 I 


named  a station  which  could  be  attained  for  that  moderate 
sum.  ‘ Unless  you  want  to  walk  you  'll  be  just  in  time  to 
catch  a train  back  here/  he  said.  ‘ Have  a return  ? ’ 

Denis  refused,  and  took  an  eightpenny  ticket.  The  clerk 
thrust  his  head  as  far  as  possible  through  his  rabbit-hutch 
window,  and  watched  him  depart  towards  the  platform. 
After  about  ten  minutes  a train  came  in,  and  Denis  stepped 
calmly  into  a third-class  carriage.  At  last,  he  thought,  as  he 
flung  himself  back  against  the  cushions,  he  had  put  the 
finishing  touch  to  the  splendour  of  his  escapade  ! He  was 
magnificently  in  for  it  now  ! 

When  he  got  out  of  the  train  at  the  station  indicated  by 
his  ticket  he  found  that  the  world  which  he  had  entered  had 
less  novelty  in  its  aspect  than  he  had  hoped  ; but  there  was 
a hill,  at  any  rate,  apparently  about  a mile  away,  and  a road 
wound  across  the  valley  towards  it.  Denis  set  out  promptly 
along  the  road,  taking  no  notice  whatsoever  of  the  various 
people  who  stared  at  him  as  he  passed.  After  a while  he 
began  to  feel  tremendously  thirsty,  and  stopped  at  a cottage 
to  ask  for  a drink  of  water.  A woman  gave  him  a large  glass 
of  milk,  and  warned  him  that  it  was  going  to  rain.  He  went 
on  his  way  with  renewed  spirits  ; the  inhabitants  of  the  new 
world  seemed  a kind  and  hospitable  race.  A man  who  was 
driving  a kind  of  open  omnibus  overtook  him  and  asked  him 
if  he  wanted  a lift  to  the  ground.  The  man  had  a red  face 
that  inspired  one  with  confidence,  but  Denis  feared  that  ‘ the 
ground  ' would  probably  be  somewhere  in  the  valley,  where 
he  had  no  intention  of  remaining  now  that  there  was  a hill 
in  sight,  so  he  refused  the  offer  with  thanks.  The  man  then 
added  that  the  charge  for  being  conveyed  by  him  to  the 
ground  was  only  two  shillings,  and  after  remarking  that  it 
was  going  to  rain  for  the  rest  of  the  day,  drove  reluctantly 
onward. 

His  prophecy  proved  to  be  only  too  true.  Very  soon  the 
sunlight  faded,  a fine  drizzle  began,  and  by  the  time  Denis 
had  approached  to  within  halfway  of  the  hill  the  sky  was 
dark  and  rain  was  falling  steadily.  But  Denis  did  not  care  ; 
this  was  the  kind  of  thing  that  all  Italians  and  sons  of  freedom 


122 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


had  to  endure  ; the  sound  of  the  rain  was  only  another  note 
in  the  grand  chorus  that  liberty  was  singing  to  his  enchanted 
ears,  for  at  school  the  headmaster  was  peculiarly  fussy  in  the 
matter  of  overcoats.  He  arrived  ultimately  at  the  foot  of 
the  hill,  feeling  extremely  damp  in  body  but  undaunted  in 
soul.  The  twilight  was  fading  as  he  began  to  climb,  but 
there  was  a splendid  aroma  of  wet  earth,  and  he  could  feel 
the  breath  of  spring  in  the  warm,  misty  air  of  the  lane.  In 
spite  of  his  wet  clothes  and  a growing  hunger,  he  did  not  feel 
the  least  regret  that  he  had  come.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he 
was  like  a prisoner  who  had  broken  loose  at  last  and  had  found 
his  native  country  after  long  wanderings  ; a funny  idea,  of 
course,  when  you  were  in  a place  of  which  you  were  com* 
pletely  ignorant,  yet  wouldn't  the  prisoner  feel  at  home  in 
any  place  where  he  was  free  ? 

Halfway  up  the  hill  he  paused,  and  sniffed  the  moist  air 
luxuriously.  The  last  gleam  had  faded  from  the  sky,  and  in 
the  valley  below  him  a few  lights  twinkled  out  just  as  they 
did  at  home.  His  mind  had  been  working  with  amazing 
swiftness  as  he  walked,  and  now  he  began  to  formulate  con- 
clusions. It  seemed  absurd  to  think  that  only  an  hour  or 
two  ago  he  had  contemplated  the  possibility  of  returning  to 
school.  The  tremendous  quarter  of  an  hour  in  the  train 
had  changed  all  that ; even  if  he  had  been  so  weak  as  to  wish 
to  go  back,  it  was  impossible  now  ; school  was  a dozen  miles 
away  as  ordinary  people  measure  space,  but  to  him  in  his 
present  condition  a thousand  thousand.  He  had  taken  the 
great  step,  and  felt  much  the  better  for  it.  It  seemed,  after 
all,  such  an  easy  thing  to  do,  although  the  writers  of  school 
books  spoke  of  it  with  breathless  accents  of  awe  ! He  was 
somewhat  astonished  that  he  was  not  at  all  frightened  ; 
instead,  he  felt  a really  wonderful  kind  of  being  ; all  his  senses 
seemed  to  have  become  extraordinarily  acute,  and  he  imagined 
that  he  could  walk  for  the  whole  night  without  feeling  any 
fatigue.  Above  all,  he  was  conscious  of  an  overmastering 
desire  to  climb  that  hill.  There  was  something  symbolic 
about  it — its  road  seemed  to  lead  up  to  a new  and  splendid 
aspect  of  life.  It  soared  to  the  unknown,  and  he  was  so  weary 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


123 


of  the  known.  If  the  unknown  proved,  as  so  often  happened, 
to  be  a desolate  waste,  there  would  be  a valley  on  the  other 
side,  and  then  more  hills,  more  hills.  As  regards  mere  material 
affairs  like  food  and  shelter  he  felt  no  anxiety.  The  milk 
given  to  him  by  the  woman  in  the  valley  was  a good  omen  ; 
it  was  still  early,  and  he  had  often  stayed  on  the  hills  at  home 
until  after  Dr.  Yorke’s  dinner-hour. 

Half  an  hour  later  he  had  reached  the  top  of  the  incline, 
and  stood,  as  far  as  he  was  able  to  judge  of  his  surroundings 
in  the  dusk,  on  the  edge  of  a large  heath.  A strange  pale 
thing  was  fluttering  in  the  darkness  near  the  entrance  of  the 
lane  ; he  went  up  to  it,  and  found  that  it  was  a small  white 
flag  attached  to  an  iron  stake.  The  fact  that  the  heath  was 
frequented  by  golfers  seemed  to  detract  from  some  of  its 
romance.  He  stood  for  a few  moments,  hesitating  whether 
to  cross  it  or  to  redescend  the  hill  and  follow  the  valley,  and 
then  he  saw  two  wavering  lights  that  approached  him,  and 
heard  the  sound  of  wheels.  The  lights  drew  nearer  and 
nearer,  like  the  bleared  eyes  of  some  nocturnal  phantom, 
and  he  drew  aside  to  let  the  vehicle  pass. 

As  it  lumbered  by  him,  he  saw  that  it  was  a waggonette. 
Two  closely  muffled  figures  sat  under  umbrellas  behind  the 
driver.  The  lights  shone  full  on  him  and  half  blinded  him 
as  he  stood  there,  and  then  thick  darkness  enwrapped  him 
like  a mantle.  He  had  stepped  out  into  the  road,  when  a 
loud  voice  sounded  suddenly  from  the  retreating  vehicle  : 

‘ I say  ! I say  ! ' it  said  ; ‘ I could  swear  that  was  a school 
cap  ! ’ 

Denis  stood  there  trembling,  unable  to  move.  Life  seemed 
to  forsake  his  limbs,  and  a cold  perspiration  burst  out  on  his 
forehead.  He  heard  the  driver  pull  up  his  horse,  and  the  sharp 
click  of  an  opening  door.  Then  strength  returned  to  him, 
and  he  began  to  run  down  the  road.  It  was  scored  with  ruts  ; 
twice  he  stumbled  and  fell  heavily,  and  each  time  as  he  rose 
he  heard  the  feet  of  a pursuer.  His  breath  came  in  choking 
gasps  ; the  terror  at  his  heart  seemed  to  paralyse  him.  The 
footsteps  were  quite  near  now  ; he  made  a wild  effort  to 
swerve  to  one  side  across  the  heath,  fell  over  a furze-bush, 


124  the  first  round 

and  was  hauled  from  the  ground  by  a strong  hand  that  held 
his  collar. 

‘ I hope  you  're  not  a stranger  who  is  merely  running  for 
the  sake  of  exercise,'  said  his  captor,  without  relinquishing 
his  hold  ; ‘ but  it  seemed  to  me  that  you  belonged  to  Mr. 
Lister’s  house.  Come  along  and  let 's  have  a look  at  you.' 

The  speaker  was  a young  clergyman  who  was  a master 
at  school.  Denis  recognised  his  voice  immediately  ; he  had 
often  heard  him  preach  in  chapel.  A dreadful  weight  of 
despair  seemed  to  press  down  his  heart,  but  even  then  he  felt 
that  he  did  not  care  in  the  least  for  the  punishment  that  was 
now  inevitable,  he  was  only  thrilling  with  bitterness  because 
his  hour  of  freedom  was  ended.  He  walked  in  silence  beside 
the  master  until  they  reached  the  carriage  and  its  lamps. 
The  master  inspected  him  closely. 

‘ Your  name 's  Yorke,  isn’t  it  ? ' he  asked.  ‘ I really  have 
capital  sight.  Why,  you  're  soaked  to  the  skin  ! What  on 
earth  are  you  doing  here  at  this  time  of  night  ? Did  one  of 
the  masters  bring  you  to  caddy  for  him  ? ' 

For  poor  Denis,  who  thought  that  he  had  penetrated  into  a 
new  and  unscholastic  world,  had  merely  contrived  to  reach 
a well-known  golf-course  where  certain  of  the  masters  were 
accustomed  to  play  on  Saturday  afternoons.  The  driver  of 
the  waggonette  was  the  red-faced  man  who  had  tried  to 
persuade  him  to  accept  a lift  to  ‘ the  ground,'  and  the  muffled 
figure  on  the  back  seat  belonged  to  another  master. 

‘ I came  by  myself,'  said  Denis  slowly. 

‘ And  did  you  get  leave  ? And  why  did  you  start  running  ? ' 
asked  his  captor,  in  a voice  that  thrilled  with  interest. 

Denis  replied  that  he  had  omitted  to  get  leave.  ‘ And  I 
ran  away,'  he  concluded,  ‘ because  I didn't  want  to  come 
back.  I wanted  to  go  on  walking  to  nowhere.' 

This  explanation  seemed  to  surprise  the  masters.  They 
stared  at  one  another  for  a moment  without  speaking.  Then 
the  young  clergyman  propelled  Denis  smartly  into  the 
waggonette,  and  ordered  the  driver  to  proceed  on  his  way. 
In  another  moment  the  adventure  was  ended,  and  Denis  was 
bowling  back  to  civilisation  and  dreariness. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


125 


XV 

MAD  fellow,  mad  as  ten  thousand  hatters ! ’ said  Mr. 
Lister.  ‘ I give  you  up ; if  it ’s  any  joy  to  you  to 
know  that  you ’ve  reduced  all  my  powers  of  understanding 
to  a jelly,  you  ’re  welcome  to  it.  I give  you  up  ; I refuse  to 
think  about  you.’  He  stared,  as  if  for  inspiration,  at  a fine 
specimen  of  the  Great  Northern  Diver  which  hung  above  his 
desk.  The  Great  Northern  Diver  gazed  at  him  with  an  ex- 
pression of  fatuous  benevolence.  4 You  say  you  went  there 
because  you  felt  that  you  must  get  away.  Why  did  you  feel 
that  you  must  get  away  ? We  all  have  to  stay  here  ; the 
headmaster  has  to  ; I have  to  ; we  're  all  tied  with  the  same 
rope.  Who  in  thunder  are  you  that  you  should  calmly  go 
trapesing  over  the  country  as  if  it  were  your  own  private 
park  ? But  there,  I won’t  pursue  the  subject.  Is  any  one 
bullying  you  ? No.  Are  you  ill  ? No.  Does  your  aunt 
live  on  the  Easton  golf-links  ? No.  Did  you  want  to  see 
Mr.  James  go  round  in  eighty-five  ? No.  There ’s  only  one 

explanation,  you  ’re  mad  ; mad  as  ten  thousand I ’m 

not  a specialist  in  lunacy  ; I refuse  to  have  anything  more 
to  do  with  you.  The  headmaster  must  settle  you,  my  per- 
son ! ’ He  flapped  a red  silk  handkerchief  wildly  at  Denis. 
‘ Go  away  ! go  away  and  try  to  grow  up  into  a sensible 
being  ! ’ he  cried,  and  began  to  write  madly  in  a mark-book. 

If  Denis  had  felt  any  interest  in  the  question,  he  would 
perhaps  have  realised  that  Mr.  Lister  did  not  treat  his 
escapade  with  all  the  solemnity  that  a serious  breach  of  the 
school  rules  deserved.  Perhaps  the  housemaster  was  really 
not  such  an  arbitrary  judge  of  the  character  of  boys  as  he 
pretended  to  be,  and  felt  that  since  the  adventure  had  ended 
as  it  did  there  was  no  wisdom  in  adding  fuel  to  the  boy’s 
obscure  furnace  of  irritation.  Denis,  however,  was  now 
involved  in  the  dull  bewilderment  that  so  often  follows  some 


126 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


wildly  impulsive  act,  and  his  comprehension  of  the  attitude 
of  others  was  wholly  dimmed.  On  the  following  day  he  went 
about  his  ordinary  duties  mechanically  and  without  resent- 
ment • he  seemed  to  have  exhausted  all  his  capacity  for 
feeling  during  his  brief  plunge  into  freedom.  That  wild 
adventure  began  to  assume  some  of  the  vague  colour  of  a 
dream,  and  there  were  moments  when  he  began  to  doubt  if 
it  had  happened  at  all.  Yet  he  was  conscious  also  of  a strange 
sense  of  peace,  as  if,  in  spite  of  the  laughter  of  a world,  he 
had  been  called  upon  to  play  some  great  part,  and  had  played 
it  well. 

The  event  became  more  real  to  him  when  he  received  a 
summons  to  the  headmaster’s  study — a summons  which 
required  his  presence,  not  at  the  usual  morning  hour,  but  at 
five  o’clock.  As  he  went  past  the  collection  of  walking-sticks 
in  the  hall,  Denis  remembered  how  he  had  noticed  them 
when,  as  a timid  new  boy,  he  had  entered  those  austere 
portals  with  his  father,  and  it  seemed  to  him  strange  that 
he  had  felt  so  nervous  then  and  that  now  he  felt  so  calm. 
Then  he  was  a new  boy  with  (as  his  father  had  said)  all  his 
chances  before  him  ; and  now  he  felt  like  a very  old  boy, 
and  knew  that  he  was  marching  towards  dire  punishment ; 
yet  it  didn’t  seem  to  matter.  He  had  no  idea  as  to  the  form 
which  his  punishment  would  take  ; Lenwood,  who  had  listened 
to  his  account  of  the  affair  with  an  expression  of  unwonted 
and  curious  interest,  had  suggested  that  he  would  probably 
be  obliged  to  show  up  a copy  of  some  great  invocation  to 
Liberty  every  morning  for  the  rest  of  term,  and  Mr.  Lister 
had  hinted  that  the  Sanatorium  ought  to  possess  a padded 
room  for  his  reception. 

The  study  was  empty  when  he  entered,  and  for  a few 
moments  he  stood  looking  at  various  photographs  of  marble 
gods  and  goddesses  which  adorned  the  intervals  between  the 
book-shelves.  The  door  swung  open  quickly,  the  head- 
master entered,  and  strode  rapidly  to  his  table  without 
glancing  at  Denis.  He  turned  over  some  papers,  and  then 
sat  bolt  upright  in  his  chair  and  said  suddenly  : 

‘ Now,  Yorke,  what  does  this  mean  ? ’ 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


127 


That  was  the  one  question  which  Denis  felt  quite  unable  to 
answer.  He  gazed  at  a white  goddess  and  listened  to  the 
clock  ticking  on  the  chimneypiece.  At  last  he  looked  at  the 
headmaster  and  strove  to  formulate  a sentence.  Decidedly 
there  was  something  in  the  Head’s  eye  which,  in  spite  of  his 
awful  austerity,  made  him  seem  more  human  than  the  various 
jocose  assistant-masters  who  had  achieved  such  wonderful 
athletic  distinction  at  Oxford  and  Cambridge.  There  was  a 
light,  a queer  radiance  that  in  an  ordinary  mortal  might 
almost  have  meant  sympathy. 

It  is  improbable  that  the  headmaster  was  also  engaged  in 
speculation  as  to  the  meaning  of  the  expression  in  the  face  of 
Denis,  but  he  waited  quite  patiently  for  a minute  before  he 
spoke  again. 

‘ Well/  he  said  at  length,  ‘ haven’t  you  anything  to  say  ? 
Ain’t  you  aware  that  you  broke  a stringent  school  rule  in 
going  to  Easton  without  leave  ? ’ 

‘ Yes,  sir,’  said  Denis. 

‘ And  didn’t  you  know  that  you  couldn’t  get  back  until 
several  hours  after  lock-up  ? ’ 

‘ Yes,  sir.’ 

‘ Did  you  mean  to  come  back  ? ’ 

‘ No,  sir.’ 

There  was  a long  silence  after  this  answer.  The  head- 
master ceased  to  stare  at  Denis,  and  gazed  at  the  book- 
shelves which  were  opposite  his  table.  His  face  was  less  grim 
than  Denis  had  expected  ; instead,  it  almost  seemed  as  if 
he  were  afflicted  by  some  private  trouble,  and  wasn’t  really 
listening  to  the  boy’s  words. 

‘ You  were  alone  ? ’ he  asked  at  last. 

* Yes,  sir,’  answered  Denis. 

The  headmaster  suddenly  pushed  back  his  chair  and  leant 
back  in  it  with  his  hands  behind  his  head.  Then  he  fixed 
Denis  with  his  dark,  authoritative  eyes. 

‘ Now  tell  me  why  on  earth  you  did  it,’  he  said,  and  crossed 
his  legs.  The  headmaster  came  of  a family  famous  for  its 
athletic  prowess,  and  it  is  usually  difficult  for  a person  sprung 
from  such  an  origin  to  appreciate  the  point  of  view  of  a 


128 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


neurotic  small  boy.  Yet  as  he  looked  into  that  dark,  clean- 
shaven face  Denis  felt  that  there  was  something  which 
differentiated  the  headmaster  from  people  who  did  not,  who 
could  never,  understand.  And  yet, — it  was  impossible  to 
explain  the  escapade.  It  had  almost  become  inexplicable  to 
its  perpetrator. 

The  tight  lips  parted,  and  emitted  a deep  monosyllable. 

‘ Well  ? ' 

The  word  had  an  effect  on  Denis  akin  to  that  of  a starter's 
pistol  on  a runner.  4 I went  to  Easton  because  it  was  the 
place  the  man  in  the  station  told  me,'  he  stammered.  ‘ I never 
thought  it  would  be  golf-links,  and  I wanted  to  get  away  from 
everything.  Everything  had  gone  wrong,  I felt  I must  go  ; 
I couldn't  have  stayed,  at  school  or  anywhere  ; I had  to  get 
away  into  a new  place  where  there  wasn't  anybody.  I 'd 
been  feeling  like  it  for  weeks.'  He  was  silent  abruptly,  with 
a queer  gasp  for  breath.  Yet  even  then  he  remembered  that 
he  had  omitted  to  say  ‘ sir.' 

The  headmaster,  at  any  rate,  did  not  comment  on  this 
breach  of  etiquette.  He  stared  right  down  into  Denis's  soul, 
as  it  seemed  to  the  boy,  and  a peculiar  expression  invaded 
his  face. 

‘ Is  that  all  you  have  to  say  ? ' he  asked. 

Denis  was  silent. 

‘ You  were  really  running  away  from  school,  like  the  wicked 
fellows  in  the  goody-goody  books  ? ' inquired  the  head- 
master, and  this  time  there  was  a quite  human  sound  in  his 
voice.  Then  he  asked  a question  which  seemed  irrelevant 
to  Denis. 

‘ Ain't  you  longing  to  do  it  again  ? ' he  said. 

Denis  looked  at  him  with  wonder.  ‘ I haven't  felt  like 
that  since,'  he  answered.  To  his  immense  surprise,  a smile 
began  to  dawn  somewhere  far  down  in  the  headmaster's 
eyes  and  spread  over  his  face. 

‘ I 've  one  more  question  to  ask  you,  Yorke,'  he  said. 
* Don't  you  think,  now,  that  you 've  been  a most  terrible 
little  idiot  ? ' He  continued  to  smile,  and  slowly  and  dimly 
Denis  began  to  feel  the  wonder  and  misgiving  that  beset  us 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


129 


when  we  view  our  acts  from  a startling  standpoint  to  which 
we  are  conducted  by  the  magic  of  a personality  stronger  than 
our  own.  The  solid  earth  seemed  to  fail  beneath  his  feet,  he 
stood  there  looking  blankly  at  the  headmaster,  who  forth- 
with proceeded  to  improve  the  occasion. 

‘ Now/  he  said,  ‘ if  you  read  in  one  of  the  goody-goody 
books  of  a boy  running  away  from  a school  where  he  was 
getting  on  well,  simply  because  he  had  a bad  fit  of  depression 
and  got  it  into  his  foolish  head  that  every  one  didn't  appreciate 
him,  and  because  he  thought  he  would  somehow  score  off 
every  one  all  round  by  doing  it,  wouldn't  you  call  him  a 
silly  fellow  ? And  even  if  you  read  of  a boy  who  had  been 
used  to  going  about  wherever  he  liked  before  he  left  home 
coming  to  a school  where  there  was  a rule  about  bounds, 
and  feeling  horribly  offended  by  it,  wouldn't  you  call  him  a 
decenter  fellow  if  he  pocketed  his  rage  than  if  he  went  walking 
anywhere  but  in  bounds  just  because  it  reminded  him  of 
home  ? It 's  all  very  fine  to  be  adventurous,  and  to  be 
moved  by  mad  impulses,  but  at  school  we  try  to  give  you  a 
chance  for  all  that  sort  of  thing  in  games  : we  don't  profess 
to  make  heroes,  but  we  do  try  to  turn  out  sensible  persons. 
Now  haven't  you  done  a thing  that  any  sensible  person  would 
laugh  at  ? I don't  mean  any  one  who  knows  nothing  about 
you,  but  I mean  any  one  who  could  understand  all  the  little 
troubles  that  you 've  had,  and  all  the  queer  things  you  may 
have  inside  your  queer,  whirling  head, — any  one  who  knows 
you  as  you  ought  to  know  yourself.  He  would  say:  this 
creature  may  have  had  a run  of  bad  luck  and  he  may  be 
naturally  an  irritable  kind  of  beast,  but  if  he  had  a sense  of 
what  was  ridiculous, — and  that 's  partly  what  being  sensible 
means, — he  wouldn't  have  behaved  in  a way  that  'll  make 
him  feel  hot  and  foolish  when  he  thinks  of  it  a year  hence. 
You 've  been  ridiculous,  Yorke  ; and  the  best  thing  that  I 
can  wish  you  is  that  you  may  some  day  be  able  to  realise  it/ 

When  you  are  a headmaster,  of  course,  you  have  to  say  this 
kind  of  thing  in  one  form  or  another,  but  none  the  less  the 
oratorical  shaft  had  a very  salutary  effect  on  the  small  soul 
at  which  it  was  aimed.  Denis  stared  with  startled  eyes  at 
1 


130 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


the  marble  goddess,  and  wondered  why  it  had  never  occurred 
to  him  before  that  his  escapade  had  been  merely  funny.  He 
also  began  to  imagine  what  Mr.  Duroy  and  Rosalind  would 
think  of  it,  and  felt  a cold  shiver  run  down  his  back  as  he 
realised  that  they  would  be  quite  kind  and  sympathetic, 
but  that  they  would  certainly  refuse  to  contemplate  it  from 
a tragic  point  of  view.  So,  of  course,  would  Tellier.  Yet 
Lenwood,  who  had  a real,  though  a rather  grim  sense  of  the 
comic,  had  listened  to  the  story  of  the  affair  with  profound 
gravity.  With  an  effort  he  concentrated  his  attention  on  the 
concluding  remarks  of  the  headmaster. 

‘ I ain’t  going  to  punish  you  as  severely  as  you  seem  to 
deserve,’  said  that  dignitary,  4 because  I believe  that  your 
own  conscience  will  do  that  when  you  realise  that  you ’ve 
behaved  like  a buffoon.  You  will  do  the  usual  imposition 
for  absence  from  call-over,  and  the  same  for  being  late  for 
locking-up.  Don’t  let  me  hear  of  you  again  until  you ’ve 
grown  wiser,  and  don’t  begin  to  think  that  other  people  are 
really  less  excellent  than  you  because  they  don’t  suffer  from 
irresistible  impulses  to  do  silly  things.  I ’ve  had  several 
letters  from  your  father  lately,  and  though  he  worries  need- 
lessly about  you,  I believe  he  would  agree  with  what  I say.’ 

Denis  flushed  scarlet,  and  his  lips  parted.  The  head- 
master repressed  him  briefly. 

‘ That  will  do,’  he  said.  ‘ You  can  go,  and  I hope  you  ’ll 
think  seriously  about  the  foolishness  of  being  a young  idiot.’ 

Denis  spent  the  next  hour  in  walking  swiftly  round  and 
round  the  darkened  quadrangle,  and  perhaps  on  the  whole 
it  was  the  healthiest  dose  of  exercise  that  he  had  taken  for  a 
long  time.  There  are  moments  in  the  life  of  a boy  when  even 
a headmaster  may  seem  an  oracle,  and  may  awaken,  accident- 
ally or  by  design,  some  faculty  which  has  long  lain  torpid 
behind  his  consciousness.  The  early  life  of  Denis,  with  its 
loneliness  and  its  quickened  instinct  for  self-taught  consola- 
tion, had  abnormally  developed  his  sensitiveness  to  impres- 
sions from  without,  but  it  had  left  his  sense  of  humour  dor- 
mant. He  had  never  known  the  tonic  spirit  that  so  often 
seems  to  be  Nature’s  recompense  to  members  of  a large  family  ; 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


131 

he  had  always,  as  we  saw  long  ago,  been  denied  the  inestimable 
privilege  of  being  hustled  and  jostled  into  a sound  philo- 
sophical attitude.  School  might  have  done  him  this  good 
turn  if  he  had  not  contrived  to  lead  a life  apart  even  amid 
its  fever  and  fret ; but  that  which  school  failed  to  effect  was 
miraculously  performed  by  a single  individual  in  one  short 
interview.  Denis  went  out  of  the  headmaster's  room  with  the 
intimate,  poignant,  and  altogether  healthy  consciousness 
that  he  had  been  an  unmitigated  idiot.  As  he  went  round  the 
quadrangle  the  proportions  of  his  idiocy  became  gigantic 
and  ghastly, — a theme  for  the  laughter  of  suns  and  planets, 
a phantom  that  could  only  be  exorcised  after  innumerable 
years  of  decent  living  and  painful  endeavour  towards  wisdom. 
It  was  not  so  much  what  the  headmaster  had  said  as  the 
strange  expression  in  his  eyes  when  he  looked  at  you  that 
made  you  feel  ashamed  and  humble, — yet  it  made  you  feel 
happier  too,  as  if  a great  weight  had  been  taken  from  your 
shoulders  and  you  had  been  started  afresh  on  a new  and 
easier  course. 

He  met  Lenwood  that  evening,  and  asked  him  for  his  real 
opinion  concerning  the  escapade.  Lenwood  looked  for  a 
moment  as  if  he  was  about  to  snatch  a volume  from  his 
pocket  and  hide  his  head  in  it  like  a learned  ostrich  ; he 
restrained  himself,  however,  and  contemplated  Denis  with 
solemn  eyes. 

4 From  one  point  of  view,'  he  said  oracularly,  ‘ it  was  a 
fairly  decent  performance.  From  another  point  of  view  it 
was  damned  silly.' 

Denis  meekly  requested  him  to  be  more  explicit. 

‘ From  the  point  of  view  of  the  ordinary  man  at  school,' 
said  the  philosopher,  ‘ it  was  splendid.  It  was  a protest 
against  authority,  and  the  ordinary  man  is  always  grumbling 
about  authority.  But  as  he  isn't  in  the  least  logical,  he 
won't  see  that  you  have  simply  been  putting  his  theories 
into  practice  ; he  'll  merely  kick  you  because  you 've  done 
something  eccentric.  From  the  other  point  of  view,  the  point 
of  view  of  the  wise  man,  it  was  idiotic  and  rather  interest- 
ing.' 


132  THE  FIRST  ROUND 

‘ Oh  ! do  you  think  it  was  idiotic  ? ' cried  Denis.  ‘ I 
thought ' 

* It  was  idiotic/  continued  Lenwood  calmly,  ‘ because  it 
was  pointless,  and  only  made  a bother  in  your  life.  The 
wise  man  knows  that  bothers  are  to  be  avoided,  because  they 
interfere  with  one's  real  life  that  one  lives  inside  oneself. 
Possibly  you  haven't  got  one, — most  people  haven't,  but  I 
somehow  thought  that  you  had.  It  was  interesting,  because 
all  mad  things  done  by  people  who  aren't  quite  usual  are 
interesting.  Everything — even  taking  a little  trouble — 

is  worth  doing  to  avoid  bothers,  but  even  interesting  things 
aren't  worth  doing  if  they  give  dull  fools  a chance  of  scoring 
off  you.  In  my  opinion  you  've  made  a mistake.' 

Denis  retreated  to  his  bed  with  the  knowledge  that  two 
persons,  whose  opinions  he  instinctively  respected,  were  now 
regarding  him,  for  quite  different  reasons,  as  a fool.  By 
this  time  he  was  so  bewildered  with  the  contemplation  of 
various  points  of  view  that  he  only  dimly  realised  that  there 
might  be  one  which,  if  you  possessed  it,  would  involve  you 
in  the  chastisement,  if  not  the  total  extinction,  of  Lenwood. 
Denis  communed  with  his  own  heart  whilst  the  brazen  tongue 
of  the  school  clock  announced  those  hours  of  which  he  had 
taken  the  existence  for  granted  until  the  last  few  weeks. 
Just  before  dawn  he  fell  into  a deep  and  dreamless  sleep, 
and  when  he  awoke  it  was  with  a lighter  heart,  with  the 
consciousness  that  he  was  regenerated,  that  he  had  really 
become  a new  sort  of  person  who  had  shaken  off  some 
enduring  sickness  through  the  antidote  of  those  long  hours 
of  self-revealing  thought.  He  even  felt  that  it  might  eventu- 
ally be  possible  to  laugh,  as  the  headmaster  had  prophesied, 
at  his  absurd  and  sensational  effort  in  adventure,  but  at 
present  he  was  still  consumed  with  self-abasement  when  he 
thought  of  it.  To  separate  himself  from  it  by  means  of  time, 
— of  time  and  of  solid  drudgery  that  would  make  time  pass 
unseen, — this  was  the  great  desire  that  now  possessed  him. 
Work  was  a draught  of  Lethe  that  rescued  him  from  the 
memory  of  that  insolence,  and  he  worked  with  fervour.  A 
highly  distorted  version  of  the  episode  went  round  the  school. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


133 


and,  as  Lenwood  had  predicted,  Denis  was  regarded  for  a 
while  as  an  undesirably  eccentric  person  who  was  liable  to  be 
seized  at  any  moment  with  a fit  of  mania, — homicidal  mania, 
said  some,  and  gravely  suspected  that  he  had  been  concerned 
in  the  death  of  the  Toad, — religious  mania,  said  others,  and 
wiled  away  the  hours  in  chapel  with  watching  for  symptoms. 
But  as  Denis  showed  no  sign  that  could  possibly  be  inter- 
preted as  denoting  a desire  to  destroy  or  to  evangelise  himself 
or  his  fellows,  they  soon  found  another  interest. 

He  relegated  the  memory  of  Parnasse  to  the  interior  depths 
of  his  mind,  where  it  remained  as  a warm,  delicious  back- 
ground that  seemed  to  lend  colour  to  all  his  thoughts.  He 
toiled  assiduously  at  music,  improved  noticeably  at  games, 
and  tore  up  the  calendar  on  which  he  had  crossed  off  each  day. 
This  last  action,  he  found,  accelerated  the  flight  of  time  in  a 
manner  quite  beyond  belief.  The  pendulum  of  his  tempera- 
ment had  certainly  swung  to  its  opposite  extreme,  and  there 
were  moments  when  he  was  conscious  of  an  uneasy  wonder 
at  its  antics,  and  felt  his  old  envy  of  boys  who  were  always 
tranquil,  whose  existence  seemed  to  proceed  continually 
along  a happy  level.  But  he  found  at  length  that,  after  all, 
it  was  quite  possible  to  like  certain  persons  and  places, 
keeping  the  memory  of  their  charm  fresh  in  his  mind,  and  yet 
to  find  quite  different  kinds  of  persons  companionable  and 
dull  environments  not  wholly  impossible  to  endure.  Thus 
he  acquired  his  earliest  lesson  in  worldly  wisdom,  for  surely 
adaptability  without  self-surrender  is  one  of  the  prime  secrets 
of  modern  existence. 

By  the  end  of  term  the  memory  of  the  episode  had  grown 
shadowy ; he  was  visited  by  no  more  uncontrollable 
obsessions,  and  was  healthier  and  happier  than  he  had  ever 
been  during  his  school  life.  He  went  to  tea  in  Tellier’s  study 
on  the  last  Saturday  of  term,  and  heard,  to  his  joy,  that 
Tellier  was  going  to  stay  at  Parnasse  for  the  Easter  holidays. 
Tellier,  apparently,  had  not  heard  of  the  escapade,  and  for 
this  Denis  was  devoutly  thankful. 


134 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


XVI 

CONTRARY  to  his  original  and  vindictive  intention, 
Denis  made  no  allusion  to  his  day  of  madness  in 
any  letter  to  his  father.  It  would  be  wiser,  he  thought  at 
first,  to  explain  it  all  in  a personal  interview ; but  as  the 
incidents  became  slightly  blurred  in  his  memory,  he  began  to 
think  that  it  would  do  neither  his  father  nor  himself  any 
active  good  if  he  mentioned  the  affair  at  all.  He  was  still 
doubting  whether  to  speak  or  not  when  he  came  home  for 
the  holidays. 

A farmer's  cart,  driven  by  a taciturn  labourer,  met  him 
at  the  station.  He  was  slightly  surprised  that  his  father  had 
not  come  to  meet  him,  but  attributed  this  neglect  to  the 
exigency  of  some  patient.  He  reached  the  Red  House  to 
find  that  Dr.  Yorke  was  away  from  home  and  was  not  expected 
to  return  until  dinner-time. 

When  he  had  washed  and  unpacked  some  of  his  clothes 
and  music  he  looked  at  his  watch,  and  a joyful  idea  occurred 
to  him.  It  was  six  o'clock  ; dinner  was  at  half-past  seven, 
and  his  father  was  seldom  punctual ; there  was  just  time  for 
hfm  to  walk  over  the  hill  to  Parnasse.  He  carried  his  music 
down  to  the  piano,  refused  a cup  of  tea  which  the  old  house- 
keeper offered  him,  and  set  off  at  once. 

His  heart  was  beating  fast  as  he  climbed  the  slope,  and  the 
blood  tingled  in  his  veins  as  he  fronted  the  warm  south  wind. 
It  was  a delightful  April  evening  ; the  sun  had  shone  for  two 
or  three  hours,  and  the  air  was  fresh  with  recent  rain.  There 
were  primroses  all  along  the  lower  lanes,  and  it  seemed  to 
Denis  that  he  had  never  heard  such  music  from  every  tree 
and  hedgerow.  He  walked  swiftly,  and  almost  every  step 
that  he  took  brought  another  familiar  aspect  of  the  hills  in 
sight,  or  some  unforgotten  detail  of  the  lane, — a broken 
gate,  an  old  stone  horse-trough,  or  a gnarled  tree-trunk  in 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


135 


which  he  had  noted  years  ago  the  semblance  of  a human  face. 
And  at  last,  at  last,  he  saw  the  red-tiled  roof  of  Parnasse 
shining  on  the  opposite  slope  amid  its  dusky  setting  of  grey 
sallows  and  leafless  oaks. 

He  halted,  and  gazed  down  on  the  cottage.  It  seemed 
quite  funny,  and  still  more  splendid,  that  it  should  be  so 
absolutely  unchanged ; there  was  the  chimneypot  which 
Mr.  Duroy  solemnly  averred  to  have  broken  in  half  when 
he  sang  the  great  summons  of  the  Commendatore  to  Don 
Giovanni ; there  was  the  optimistic  weathercock  which 
always  pointed  due  south  in  spite  of  the  thunders  of  Boreas 
and  Eurus  ; there  was  Rosalind's  own  particular  piece  of 
garden  with  its  warning  to  trespassers  that  was  written  in 
French  for  the  benefit  of  Narcisse  ; and  there,  surely,  was 
Rosalind  at  the  door,  looking,  apparently,  down  the  garden 
path  and  shading  her  eyes  and  her  freckled  nose  from  the 
direct  stare  of  the  sun.  Denis  gave  a little  gasp  of  joy.  To 
think  that  the  long,  almost  hopeless  yearning  was  to  be 
satisfied  at  last ! He  was  about  to  shout  to  Rosalind,  but  as 
he  put  his  hands  to  his  mouth  she  turned  swiftly,  as  if  some 
one  had  called  her,  and  went  indoors.  He  wondered  whether 
it  was  within  the  bounds  of  possibility  that  she  had  come  out 
to  look  for  him.  Then  he  remembered  Tellier,  felt  the  first 
tiny  twinge  of  jealousy  that  had  ever  assailed  him,  and 
loathed  himself  for  it. 

He  descended  the  hill  until  he  was  almost  on  a level  with 
the  studio  window.  It  was  wide  open,  and  in  the  room 
beyond  some  one  was  humming  like  an  immense  and  melo- 
dious bumble-bee.  The  humming  changed  suddenly  to  human, 
or  rather  superhuman,  speech. 

Di-ri-der-fin-ir-ai-pri-a-dell-Au-ro-ra, 

sang  a great  voice,  and  Denis  looked  with  a smile  to  see  if 
another  chimneypot  would  crack. 

Ri-bald-o-au-da-ce-lascia-a-morti-la-pace . 

Suddenly  another  voice  came  through  the  window,  a lighter, 
gayer  voice,  with  a sort  of  supple  mockery  vibrating  in  all 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


136 

its  notes.  ' 0 statua  gentilissima / it  began,  and  the  notes 
seemed  to  thrill  with  amusement  at  the  absurd  spectacle 
of  a sepulchral  monument  bursting  into  melodious  invective. 
Then  the  song  broke  off,  evidently  just  as  Rosalind  entered 
the  room,  for  Denis  heard  her  voice,  and  then  a sound  of 
masculine  laughter.  Oh  how  jolly,  how  unutterably  jolly 
it  all  was  ! But  who  was  the  owner  of  the  second  voice  ? 

He  went  down  to  the  garden  gate,  and  was  on  the  point 
of  lifting  the  latch  when  he  was  overwhelmed  by  a strange 
sensation  of  shyness,  mingled  with  a desire  to  postpone  for 
a very  short  time  the  joy  of  meeting  these  dear  people,  of 
hoarding  up  this  immense  delight  until  another  day.  After 
all,  he  would  only  be  able  to  stay  to-night  for  a few  minutes, 
and  they  were  expecting  Tellier,  and — and  all  things  con- 
sidered, he  wouldn't  go  in.  It  would  be  so  splendid  to  lie 
awake  all  night  and  to  revel  in  the  thought  that  he  was 
going  over  the  hill  to  Parnasse  as  soon  as  ever  breakfast  was 
over.  At  this  moment  Rosalind  returned  to  the  doorway, 
and  directly  afterwards  was  joined  by  no  other  person  than 
Tellier  himself.  Denis  drew  back  behind  a screen  of  sallows 
before  they  could  see  him.  The  sudden  apparition  of  Tellier 
made  him  decide  finally  not  to  go  in  to  Parnasse  that  day. 
Oddly  enough,  at  school,  in  spite  of  his  immense  admiration 
for  the  older  boy,  he  had  never  really  stood  in  awe  of  him 
as  one  stood  in  awe,  for  instance,  of  the  immense  and  majestic 
Arbuthnot ; but  now,  away  from  school,  it  occurred  to  him 
that,  after  all,  Tellier  was  a.  tremendous  god,  and  would 
probably  think  it  rather  insolence  on  the  part  of  a small  boy 
to  come  round  as  soon  as  he  arrived  at  his  uncle's  house. 
When  Denis  was  halfway  home  he  realised,  of  course,  that 
this  sudden  idea  was  ridiculous  beyond  laughter  ; but  it  was 
then  too  late  to  turn  back,  and  of  course  there  were  other 
reasons  for  not  doing  so. 

As  he  walked  slowly  back  to  the  Red  House  his  content- 
ment was  marred  for  a moment  by  a sharp  thrill  of  remorse. 
He  had  passed  every  moment  since  he  had  reached  home  in 
thinking  of  Parnasse,  and  had  quite  forgotten  his  father  ! 
Very  soon,  however,  his  serenity  returned.  It  would  be 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


137 


awfully  jolly  to  see  his  father  ; he  felt  a thrill  of  warm  affec- 
tion as  he  thought  of  him  ; he  had  an  idea,  too,  that  they 
would  be  able  to  get  on  better  together  these  holidays  ; it 
had  been  his  own  fault,  yes,  entirely  his  own  fault,  that  mis- 
understandings had  arisen  ; he  had  been  wilful  and  sulky, 
and  that  was  what  had  made  his  father  cold  and  distant. 
He  quickened  his  pace,  feeling  friendly  to  all  the  world,  and 
resolved  to  avoid  drawing  contrasts  between  Parnasse  and 
the  Red  House.  After  all,  you  couldn't  expect  to  have  a 
world  entirely  made  up  of  Parnasses,  and  rich  bass  voices, 
and  pigtails,  and  friendly  eyes. 

Having  solaced  his  soul  with  these  excellent  platitudes, 
he  ran  up  the  drive  to  the  front  door.  Dr.  Yorke’s  hat  and 
gloves  lay  on  the  hall  table,  and  as  soon  as  he  saw  them, 
Denis  rushed  into  the  study  to  greet  his  father. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


138 


XVII 

DR.  YORKE  was  sitting  at  the  study  table.  He  put 
down  the  newspaper  when  Denis  entered. 

‘ Well,  Denis/  he  said,  ‘ so  you  have  come  back/ 

His  voice  had  a strangely  muffled  sound,  and  he  did  not 
smile.  Denis  felt  his  own  words  of  greeting  die  suddenly 
on  his  lips.  His  first  impression  was  that  some  malady  of 
which  he  had  heard  nothing  must  have  fallen  on  his  father. 

‘ Oh  ! ’ he  said,  staring  at  him  and  then  coming  forward 
quickly.  ‘ You  aren’t  ill,  are  you  ? No  one  said  anything 
about  it  when  I came.  Is  anything  the  matter  ? 9 

Dr.  Yorke  drew  himself  up  stiffly,  and  again  spoke  in  that 
unreal  voice.  It  sounded  almost  as  if  he  were  attempting 
to  ventriloquise. 

‘ Don’t  make  it  worse  by  trying  to  prevaricate,  Denis,’  he 
said.  ‘ You  know  only  too  well  what  is  wrong.  It ’s  no 
use  your  trying  to  act  like  a hypocrite  and  get  round  me  by 
pretending  to  be  pleased  to  see  me.’  Dr.  Yorke  paused  and 
cleared  his  throat  audibly.  The  sound  of  this  unpleasing 
operation  was  eternally  connected  in  Denis’s  mind  with 
certain  hymn-tuneswhich  he  had  been  made  to  play  pianissimo 
on  those  interminable  Sunday  afternoons  of  his  childhood — 
afternoons  which  he  hated  especially  because  he  was  never 
allowed  to  go  for  a walk  after  the  enormous  midday  dinner. 
Dr.  Yorke,  as  many  of  his  patients  had  observed,  had  the 
habit  of  making  grotesque  noises  in  his  throat  on  all  occasions 
of  poignant  solemnity.  After  a while  he  added : ‘I’m 

bitterly  disappointed  in  you,  Denis  ; you ’ve  disgraced  your- 
self and  you ’ve  disgraced  me.  You  may  well  look  astonished  ; 
I suppose  you  thought  that  I shouldn’t  hear  of  what  you  did, 
and  you  seem  to  have  persuaded  even  the  masters  to  keep 
it  a secret.  I greatly  regret  having  sent  you  to  school ; I 
hoped  you  would  be  a credit  to  me,  and  now  I find  that 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


139 


you  are  not  only  rebellious,  but  thoroughly  deceitful/  Dr. 
Yorke's  eloquence,  which  had  halted  slightly  at  the  outset 
of  his  remarks,  was  now  moving  strongly  towards  the  realms 
of  pathos.  1 I 've  been  more  like  a brother  than  a father  to 
you/  he  continued  ; 4 at  any  rate,  no  father  could  have  been 
kinder  than  I have.  I Ve  given  you  every  chance  of  getting 
on  in  the  world,  taught  you  to  be  God-fearing,  and  put  you 
in  the  way  of  a first-class  education,  and  this  is  how  you 
thank  me/  A deep  thrill  of  self-pity  came  into  his  voice. 

‘ You  won't  find  me  quite  so  ready  now  to  put  myself  out 
night  and  day  for  your  sake/  he  concluded. 

Denis  began  to  realise  what  had  happened.  In  some  way, 
but  evidently  from  no  official  source,  his  father  had  heard  of 
the  escapade.  He  felt  a swift  thrill  of  anger  ; just  now, 
when  everything  seemed  to  be  going  so  smoothly,  when  he 
had  really  expiated  that  old  folly  with  long  hours  of  self- 
contempt and  patient  toil,  it  was  really  too  bad  that  its 
ghost  should  arise  to  trouble  his  new-found  happiness.  His 
lips  grew  firm,  and  he  frowned  slightly. 

‘ I should  have  told  you  about  it — very  likely/  he  said. 

Dr.  Yorke  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

‘ Oh  yes — very  likely,'  he  said,  with  a heavy  imitation  of 
his  son's  accent  which  somehow  contrived  to  irritate  the 
boy  intensely.  Denis  managed  to  control  himself. 

‘ At  any  rate,  the  Head  didn't  think  it  worth  while  to  tell 
you,'  he  said  quietly. 

* No  doubt  you  managed  to  get  round  him,'  retorted  his 
father.  ‘ I see,  too,  that  your  report  for  the  last  few  weeks 
of  the  term  is  extraordinarily  good.  I really  don't  know 
how  much  of  it  I am  to  believe.  I can  only  suppose  you  are 
a favourite  of  the  headmaster's,  and  that  he  kept  this  thing 
quiet  to  save  you  from  getting  into  trouble  at  home.  If  he 
knew  as  much  about  you  as  I know,  he  wouldn't  be  so  eager 
to  screen  you.' 

The  boy's  face  was  growing  more  and  more  dark. 

* He  knows  more  about  me,'  he  muttered,  staring  down  at 
the  floor,  and  hardly  moving  his  lips  as  he  spoke.  The  old 
resentment  of  his  father's  fantastic  point  of  view  began  to 


140 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


burn  again  in  his  heart.  He  clenched  his  hands  until  he  could 
feel  the  nails  biting  into  his  flesh. 

‘ Well,  if  that 's  the  case,  he 's  not  doing  his  duty/  said  Dr. 
Yorke  with  immense  emphasis. 

Denis  contemplated  the  pattern  of  the  carpet  and  felt 
utterly  sick  at  heart.  Here  was  a genial  ending  to  the  one 
day  when  he  had  at  last  felt  really  serene,  really  in  tune 
with  all  the  world  ! He  knew  only  too  well  that  his  father 
was  in  that  state  of  mind  in  which  the  vindictive  spirit  is 
nicely  allied  with  a sense  of  duty,  and  that  his  nagging 
humour  would  probably  outlast  the  Easter  holidays.  At 
any  other  time  the  suggestion  that  he  was  the  Head's  favour- 
ite, and  partner  with  him  in  a conspiracy  of  silence,  would 
have  made  him  smile,  but  now  its  absurdity  seemed  only 
to  emphasise  the  hopelessness  of  making  his  father  understand 
the  way  in  which  affairs  were  ordered  at  school. 

‘ If  the  headmaster  knew  more  about  you  than  I do,'  said 
Dr.  Yorke,  ‘ he  would  have  expelled  you  long  ago.  Upon  my 
word,  you  seem  to  be  actually  proud  of  being  a bad  boy  ! ' 

Denis  made  a gesture.  ‘ Oh,  not  things — not  about 
things,'  he  said  ; ‘ but  about  me  myself.' 

This  was  beyond  the  scope  of  Dr.  Yorke's  psychology. 

4 I may  as  well  tell  you  that  the  whole  story  is  known 
here,'  said  Dr.  Yorke  after  a pause.  ‘ Bob  Challoner  wrote 
a full  account  of  it  last  Monday  to  his  mother.  I heard  of  it 
from  the  Vicar,  who  was  greatly  shocked.  I don't  wonder 
you  look  ashamed.  It  isn’t  pleasant  to  disgrace  oneself  before 
every  one  who  has  known  one  ever  since  one  was  born,  and 
that 's  what  you  've  done.' 

But  Denis  was  not  ashamed  any  longer  ; he  was  hot  with 
anger.  So  that  coarse,  red-faced  fool  Challoner,  who  had 
been  always  held  up  to  him  as  a shining  compendium  of  all 
the  manly  virtues,  had  written  a lying  letter  in  which  the 
news  was  concocted  from  the  airy  ingredients  of  school  gossip  ! 
He  flushed  to  a deep  scarlet,  and  looked  straight  into  his 
father's  face. 

* What  did  he  say  ? ' he  demanded  curtly,  and  he  felt  even 
then  as  if  the  words  were  said  by  some  one  much  older 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


141 

and  stronger  than  himself.  Dr.  Yorke  seemed  surprised  by 
them. 

' He  said/  answered  Dr.  Yorke,  ‘ and  if  you  can  give  me 
your  word  of  honour  that  it  isn’t  true,  I shall  be  only  too 
glad  to  believe  you  even  now — he  said  that  you  and  other 
boys  were  in  the  habit  of  breaking  bounds  in  order  to  go  to 
low  public-houses.  I knew,  of  course,  that  this  was  one  of 
the  evil  practices  of  a public  school,  but  I didn’t  think  my 
boy  would  have  sunk  so  low.  I wrote  at  once  to  the  head- 
master, and  he  replied  very  briefly  that  you  had  been 
punished  merely  for  breaking  bounds  and  missing  roll-call. 
Now,  Denis,  on  your  word  of  honour  as  a Christian  gentle- 
man, was  the  rest  of  Challoner’s  story  true  ? I don’t  believe 
he  is  a fellow  who  would  exaggerate  for  the  sake  of  exaggera- 
tion/ 

And  then  Denis  could  stand  it  no  longer.  He  felt  that  he 
must  deliver  his  nerves  of  the  burden  that  was  racking  them, 
or  die  of  sheer  irritation.  He  had  possibly  never  used  an  oath 
before,  though  most  people  at  school,  Lenwood  amongst  them, 
swore  with  more  or  less  fluency. 

‘ Oh,  there ’s  no  need  for  words  of  honour,’  he  said  ; ‘ it ’s 
a filthy  lie,  and  if  you  only  had  the  least  idea  what  school ’s 
like,  and  what  I ’m  like,  and  what  that  beast  Challoner  is 
like,  you ’d  know  that  it  was.  It ’s  a damned  lie,  and  he ’s 
a damned  liar.’ 

Dr.  Yorke  rose  stiffly,  and  stared  at  Denis  as  if  he  expected 
him  presently  to  vanish  in  a blue  flame. 

f I decline  to  believe  you,’  he  said.  ‘ I decline  to  believe 
any  denial  that  is  couched  in  such  violent  and  shocking 
language.  To  think  that  you,  a mere  child,  should  burst  out 
into  oaths  before  your  own  father  ! Shame  on  you,  Denis, 
shame  on  you  ! If  your  mother  could  hear  you,  what  would 
she  say  ? ’ 

‘ I don’t  know  what  she ’d  say,’  cried  poor  Denis,  ‘ but 
I wish  she  could  hear  me  ! Yes,  I do!  I believe  she ’d 
understand  ! ’ 

He  was  trembling  dreadfully,  his  teeth  chattered,  and  his 
face  was  contorted  with  acute  nervous  agony.  To  his  father 


142 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


it  seemed  that  the  demon  of  iniquity  which  had  lurked 
unseen  within  him  for  so  long  was  now  apparent  in  every 
line  of  his  features,  and  his  last  words  seemed  to  border  on 
blasphemy.  For  a moment  he  felt  actually  afraid  of  his  son. 

4 Denis  ! ’ he  said.  ‘ Denis  ! Is  it  really  you  that  is  speak- 
ing ? Are  you  mad  ? 9 

Denis  relapsed  suddenly  into  a kind  of  hopeless  apathy. 

* Yes/  he  answered,  ‘ I said  all  that ; and  I ’m  not  mad. 
I meant  every  word  of  it.  You ’d  better  not  listen  to  me. 
I could  say  some  more.' 

His  father  made  a step  towards  him. 

* Listen  to  me/  he  said.  ‘ Your  disgusting  language  has 
only  convinced  me  that  you  have  been  getting  into  low  ways 
at  school.  Your  conduct  may  not  have  been  so  bad  as 
Challoner  implied ; if  it  had  been  I presume  that  the  head- 
master would  scarcely  have  dared  to  shield  you  ; but  you 
have  obviously  become  quite  corrupted,  although  you  have 
only  been  at  school  for  two  terms.  Even  when  you  were  at 
home  last  holidays  you  showed  an  obvious  desire  to  do  every- 
thing that  I didn’t  want  you  to  do.  You  know  what  I mean  ; 
you  were  always  rushing  off  to  the  Duroys,  although  you 
knew  well  enough  that  I disliked  your  associating  with 
Roman  Catholics.  Now  understand  this  ; I forbid  you  to 
go  to  their  house  under  any  pretext  whatever  during  these 
holidays.  You  can  make  any  excuse  you  like  to  them — I 
expect  you  have  become  good  at  excuses — or  you  can  tell 
them  the  truth  ; I don’t  care  which.  But  you  have  got  to 
promise  me  that  you  won’t  go  near  their  cottage  for  the  next 
four  weeks/ 

Denis  stared  fixedly  at  his  father  for  some  moments,  as  if 
he  were  trying  to  understand. 

* You  really  mean  to  make  me  promise  that  ? ’ he  asked. 

4 I forbid  you  to  go/  his  father  answered  shortly. 

Denis  meditated  on  this  command  for  a moment.  ‘ Then 
there  doesn’t  seem  much  reason  for  me  to  promise,’  he  said. 

His  mouth  set  in  a grim  line  and  his  eyes  were  like  two 
flints.  Dr.  Yorke  still  watched  him,  and  then  went  towards 
him  with  both  his  hands  outstretched. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


M3 


* Ah,  Denis/  he  said,  ‘ why  have  you  grown  like  this  ? 
Why  aren't  you  like  the  little  boy  who  used  to  run  to  meet 
me  when  I came  back  in  the  evening  feeling  tired  and  cold  ? 
Why  have  you  changed  so  much  in  six  months  ? ' 

It  was  too  late  ; Denis  drew  back  from  the  outstretched 
hands. 

‘ I don't  know,'  he  answered  sullenly  : * I suppose  I 've 
grown  older.  And  I ran  to  meet  you  to-night,'  he  added. 
His  face  contracted  painfully.  To  Dr.  Yorke  the  last  remark 
seemed  merely  insolent. 

* I 've  always  tried  to  be  the  most  kind  and  indulgent  of 
fathers,'  he  said.  * You  will  find  me  very  different,  though, 
in  future,  unless  you  take  care.  I wish  you  could  see  the 
way  some  English  parents  bring  up  their  children.  Now, 
remember  what  I 've  told  you.  I absolutely  forbid  you  to 
go  and  waste  your  time  at  the  Duroys ; I won't  have  you 
idling  about ; you  must  do  some  work  in  the  mornings,  and 
keep  up  your  music.  I believe  that  strumming  away  at  their 
piano  last  holidays  did  you  no  end  of  harm  ; your  music  report 
at  half-term  was  quite  unsatisfactory.' 

Strumming  away ! What  a phrase  for  Mr.  Duroy's 
laborious  instructions  about  pedalling,  and  avoiding  cheap 
effects,  and  regarding  Beethoven  and  Mozart  as  high  gods 
whom  one  approached  with  almost  tremulous  reverence  ! 

‘ I don't  want  to  be  hard  on  you,'  continued  Dr.  Yorke, 
‘ but  I insist  on  your  learning  that  you  can't  have  everything 
you  want  in  life.  Not  going  to  the  Duroys  will  teach  you 
this  lesson,  I hope.  I don't  suppose,  even  now,  that  you 
are  actually  wicked,  but  you  don't  seem  to  have  developed 
any  character.  You  must  learn  to  practise  self-denial.' 

It  occurred  to  Denis  that  self-denial  was  one  thing,  and  the 
curtailing  of  one's  own  private  and  particular  joys  by  other 
people  quite  another.  Because  he  was  silent  Dr.  Yorke 
thought  that  he  was  penitent,  and  addressed  him  in  a softer 
tone. 

‘ Now  go  to  your  room  and  get  ready  for  dinner,'  he  said, 
* and  remember  all  that  I 've  told  you  and  try  to  be  a better 
boy.'  He  was  going  to  add  that  Denis  might  shake  hands 


144 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


with  him,  but  Denis  left  the  room  even  more  suddenly  than 
he  had  entered  it.  The  note  of  condescending  benevolence 
in  his  father's  voice  had  filled  him  with  an  extraordinary 
yearning  to  laugh,  shriek,  or  ruin  furniture.  As  he  rushed 
across  the  hall  he  encountered  the  housekeeper,  who  was 
carrying  a handful  of  letters. 

‘ Here 's  one  for  you,  Master  Denis,'  she  said. 

Denis  snatched  the  letter  from  her  hand  and  whirled  up 
the  stairs  to  his  room  at  the  top  of  the  house.  When  he  was 
safely  within  it  he  tore  open  the  envelope.  The  letter  was 
from  Rosalind  Duroy.  It  was  very  brief. 

‘ Mon  Denis,  (it  said), — Birthday  party  to-morrow  at  five 
o'clock.  Come  at  two  o'clock.  Noel  is  here  and  wants  you 
to  come.  So  we  all  do.  Your  most  affectionate 

Rosalind.' 

Denis  laid  down  the  letter  on  his  dressing-table,  and  going 
to  the  window,  stood  there  with  his  forehead  pressed  against 
the  glass. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


145 


XVIII 

TWENTY-FOUR  hours  afterwards  he  gained  the  crest 
of  the  hill  and  held  up  his  face  to  the  driving  April 
rain.  The  sunset  was  like  a tawny  lake  hemmed  in  by  giant 
rocks  of  duskiest  blue  ; the  chill  wind  smote  his  cheek  sharply. 
After  a moment  he  turned  his  back  to  the  shower  and  stood 
gazing  down  at  the  distant  lights  of  Parnasse. 

It  was  the  first  birthday  party  that  he  had  attended  in  his 
life,  and  he  really  hoped  it  would  be  the  last,  unless  it  could 
be  repeated  with  exactly  the  same  detail  of  circumstance. 
Henceforward,  matched  with  this  sublime  occasion,  every 
festivity  of  the  kind  would  seem  a mere  banquet  of  spectres. 
For  it  had  been  absolutely  perfect,  a magnificent,  ever- 
memorable  success,  a harmony  of  rejoicing  in  which  Mr. 
Duroy,  and  Rosalind,  and  Tellier  had  played  completely 
appropriate  parts.  Denis  had  felt  vaguely  that  Tellier's 
presence  might  make  some  difference  in  that  beloved  house  ; 
but  it  did  nothing  of  the  kind  ; Tellier  merely  chimed  in 
perfectly  with  the  general  perfection.  He  harmonised,  also, 
in  a narrower  sense,  for  he  sang  a great  quantity  of  difficult 
songs  in  a delightful  baritone,  and  played  the  oboe,  though 
with  less  success  and  with  the  most  remarkable  facial  con- 
tortions ; seeming,  when  he  took  a breath,  to  be  desirous  of 
swallowing  the  instrument  entire.  He  had  twenty  quaint 
French  pet  names  for  the  poodle,  and  at  least  fifty  for  Rosalind. 
He  fenced  with  absurd  and  extravagant  gestures,  and  was 
defeated  by  his  cousin,  but  he  conquered  Denis  by  the 
dastardly  process  of  suddenly  dropping  on  his  hands  and 
knees  and  violently  seizing  his  adversary's  ankles ; an 
astonishing  method  which,  experts  may  care  to  know,  is 
rarely  successful  the  second  time. 

All  the  fun,  however,  was  ended,  and  as  Denis  walked 
slowly  homeward  he  realised  that  he  was  about  to  figure  in 

K 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


146 

an  unfamiliar  r61e — the  naughty  boy  who  had  deliberately 
disobeyed  his  father's  solemn  injunction.  Whilst  the  wind 
sang  round  him  on  the  hillside  the  act  seemed  of  little 
importance,  but  as  he  descended  to  the  valley  his  excitement 
waned,  and  the  lights  in  the  Red  House  had  an  ominous 
glare.  For  a moment  he  felt  sorry  ; his  disobedience  seemed 
an  act  of  discourtesy  to  his  father — a brutal  assertion  of  his 
own  antagonism  to  Dr.  Yorke's  attitude  of  mind  ; then  a 
defiant  mood  came  over  him,  and  he  thought  that,  whatever 
happened,  his  relations  with  his  father  could  not  be  worse 
than  they  actually  were  at  present,  and  that,  at  any  rate, 
punishment  for  a real  iniquity  would  be  preferable  to 
reproaches  for  an  imaginary  one.  It  was  better  to  be  vile 
than  vile  esteemed. 

When  he  reached  the  Red  House  he  went  at  once  to  the 
study.  Dr.  Yorke  was  sitting  by  the  fire  and  reading  the 
paper.  Denis  blurted  out  his  crime  with  no  circumlocution. 

* I 'd  better  tell  you  that  I 've  been  to  Rosalind  Duroy's 
birthday  party,'  he  said. 

Dr.  Yorke  put  down  the  paper  and  stared  at  him. 

‘ And  you  actually  have  the  audacity  to  come  straight  in 
and  tell  me  ? ' he  cried. 

The  exclamation  puzzled  Denis.  He  did  not  realise  that 
it  was  merely  the  rhetorical  flourish  which  invariably  pre- 
ceded his  father's  rebukes  ; it  seemed  to  him  to  imply  that 
he  had  by  this  time  sunk  so  low  in  an  inferno  of  wickedness 
that  even  his  candour  became  a vice.  An  impish  spirit 
seized  him. 

* You  wouldn't  have  found  out  if  I hadn't,'  he  said. 

Dr.  Yorke's  face  became  curiously  red  and  puckered ; 
he  seemed  to  be  fighting  for  breath.  He  rose,  and  presently 
an  incoherent  torrent  of  invective  poured  from  his  lips. 
Denis,  it  implied,  was  a vile  thing,  a disgrace  to  the  father 
who  had  always  treated  him  kindly,  a young  scoundrel  with 
all|the  crimes  of  the  decalogue  just  beginning  to  seethe  in  his 
soul.  It  was  a pity  he  had  ever  been  born  ; he  had  no  spark 
of  natural  affection  ; a regular  time-server,  he  had  pretended 
to  be  fond  of  his  father  as  long  as  it  was  convenient,  and  now 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


147 


he  had  gone  over  to  these  Duroys,  these  French  people. 
Well,  he  could  go  to  them  if  he  wanted  to  ; as  he  was  so  fond 
of  them,  he  had  better  go  and  live  with  them  altogether  ; 
he  himself  would  be  only  too  glad  to  get  rid  of  a son  who  was 
turning  out  a disgrace.  Denis  could  become  a Romanist, 
and  be  as  wicked  as  he  liked  at  the  expense  of  a cheque  to 
his  church  every  quarter,  paying  for  his  sins  as  people  pay  a 
gas-account.  Yes,  obviously  he  had  better  arrange  to  be 
adopted  by  these  foreigners. 

Denis  had  expected  a tirade,  but  there  was  a note  of 
actual  ferocity  in  his  father's  voice  that  astonished  him. 
Dr.  Yorke's  bony  hands  were  clenched  so  that  the  knuckles 
seemed  to  be  about  to  burst  through  the  rough  skin,  his 
eyes  had  large  white  circles  round  their  pupils,  and  his  voice 
was  alternately  harsh  and  husky,  as  if  he  were  half-choked 
with  bitter  words.  Denis  stood  in  front  of  him  without 
daring,  after  the  first  moment,  to  meet  those  eyes  which 
seemed  to  belong  to  some  savage  and  wholly  strange  creature. 
If  this  was  the  result  of  an  act  of  disobedience,  the  consequence 
of  which,  at  any  rate,  he  had  not  shirked,  what  would  happen 
if  his  father  ever  believed  him  guilty  of  graver  crimes — of 
the  iniquities  that  school  gossip  attributed  to  such  fellows  as 
Challoner  ? He  remembered  that  when,  as  a very  small  boy, 
his  nerves  had  been  set  on  edge  by  some  long  and  pointless 
paternal  lecture,  he  had  often  felt  an  extraordinary  desire 
to  invent  misdeeds  of  which  he  was  quite  innocent,  simply 
in  order  to  see  the  effect  which  the  confession  of  these  phantom 
sins  would  have  on  his  father.  The  old,  curious  desire  awoke 
in  him  again  ; for  the  first  time,  since  he  was  instinctively 
clean  of  soul,  his  thoughts  began  to  dwell  on  the  morbid  side 
of  school  life,  and  stories  which  he  had  heard — ugly  whispers 
that  had  apparently  made  no  more  impression  on  his  mind 
than  a dimly  sinister  dream — suddenly  hovered  around  him 
like  obscene  phantoms  with  bat-like  wings.  Rapid  fire 
seemed  to  burn  through  his  veins  and  his  breath  came  quickly. 
. . . The  evil  obsession  passed  away  in  a few  moments, 
but  it  left  him  with  a throbbing  heart  and  burning  eyes. 
If  his  father  could  have  known  what  was  in  his  mind  then  ! 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


148 

he  thought ; and  the  thought  was  followed  by  an  almost 
irresistible  impulse  to  tell  him.  But  at  that  moment  he 
divined  that  the  strange  phase  through  which  he  had  just 
passed  was  only  the  climax  to  a series  of  obscure  sensations 
which  had  lately  assailed  his  peace  of  mind.  He  flushed 
darkly,  and  then  realised  with  a dull  sensation  of  wonder 
that  his  father  was  still  improving  the  occasion  • for  it  seemed 
to  him  that  he  had  been  wandering  for  hours  in  a labyrinth 
of  feverish  thought. 

‘ You  may  well  turn  red/  said  Dr.  Yorke,  who  had  appar- 
ently been  accusing  him  of  all  manner  of  evil,  and  had  taken 
his  silence  for  confession  ; 4 and  if  you  were  only  half  as 
ashamed  of  yourself  as  I am,  you  might  still  have  a chance 
of  turning  out  decently/  Dr.  Yorke's  system  of  rhetoric 
was  bound  by  no  paltry  shackles  of  grammar  and  syntax. 
* No  one  could  have  been  more  careful  than  I Ve  been/  he 
continued,  slightly  varying  his  inevitable  formula  ; T Ve 
watched  over  you  and  tried  to  be  a mother  as  well  as  a father 
— tried  to  put  you  in  the  right  direction  and  to  pull  you  out 
of  the  wrong  one.  I did  my  best,  and  this  is  the  result/ 

At  this  point,  to  his  father's  great  surprise,  Denis,  who 
had  seemed  as  if  no  power  in  the  world  would  induce  him 
to  open  his  lips,  suddenly  interpolated  a remark. 

‘ That 's  just  it,'  he  said,  extremely  quickly  ; ‘ I only  want 
to  be  left  alone.  I don't  want  to  be  bothered.  When  people 
bothered  me  at  school  I went  almost  mad  : and  just  now  all 
sorts  of  horrid  things  came  into  my  head — stories  about  people 
with  no  clothes  on,  like  some  fellows  tell  at  school.  If  I 
was  let  alone  I should  be  all  right.' 

This  remarkable  utterance,  which  should  have  convinced 
any  sensible  person  of  the  innate  sanity  of  the  boy's  mind, 
seemed  to  his  father  convincing  proof  of  his  utter  corruption. 
Dr.  Yorke  sat  down  abruptly,  and  actually  groaned.  He 
seemed  so  dreadfully  overwhelmed  that  Denis  was  smitten 
with  swift  contrition. 

‘ I can't  lie  and  say  I 'm  sorry  I went  to  Parnasse,'  he  said, 
‘ but  I 'm  awfully  sorry  it 's  made  you  angry.  I never 
thought  that  you 'd  mind  as  much  as  this.' 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


149 


Dr.  Yorke  seemed  not  to  hear  this  apology.  He  was 
preparing  for  another  burst  of  invective.  This  time  the  words 
came  slowly. 

4 You  're  ungrateful  and  unnatural/  he  said.  4 You,  a 
little  child  of  fifteen,  seem  to  think  that  you  can  have  all 
the  privileges  of  being  grown-up  ; you  haven't  a word  of 
thanks  for  all  my  care  for  you,  but  calmly  tell  me  that  you 
want  to  be  left  alone.  Very  well,  then  ! understand  this  : 
henceforward  I leave  you  alone  ; I wash  my  hands  of  you  ; 
you  can  manage  your  own  life,  and  when  you  've  made  a 
complete  mess  of  it  you  won't  be  able  to  come  to  me  and 
say  that  I spoilt  it  with  my  interfering.  Oh  yes,  that 's 
what  you  said  ! You  can  live  in  my  house  if  the  Duroys 
won't  have  you,  and  I believe  that  I 'm  obliged  to  pay  for 
your  education,  but  beyond  that  I won't  go  an  inch.  You 
can  do  just  as  you  like  ; you  can  go  to  the  Duroys  every  day, 
and  the  only  price  you  '11  have  to  pay  will  be  the  price  of  your 
father.  You  can  easily  afford  that,  I imagine  ! ' added  Dr. 
Yorke,  with  an  irony  somewhat  above  his  usual  level. 

Denis  stared  at  him.  4 Of  course  I '11  not  go  to  the  Duroys 
if  you  really  don’t  want  me  to,'  he  said.  4 You  don't  really 
mean  that  you  and  I aren't  ever  to  be  friends  again  ? ' 

Dr.  Yorke  gave  an  extraordinary  laugh. 

4 That 's  what  I mean,'  he  shouted  ; 4 and  you 've  got  to 
face  it  whether  you  like  it  or  not.  I regret  that  you  were 
ever  born,  and  if  you  keep  away  from  those  French  people 
for  the  rest  of  your  life  it  won't  make  an  atom  of  difference. 
I 'm  not  going  to  bargain  with  you  ! I dare  say  you  think 
that  I 'll  change,  and  come  round,  and  be  an  affectionate 
father  again  to  you,  but  by  Heaven  I won't ! I 've  seen 
you  going  steadily  from  bad  to  worse,  getting  more  and  more 
alienated  from  me,  never  trying  to  make  the  house  pleasant 
for  me,  but  always  thinking  of  yourself  and  your  music,  and 
God  knows  what  else  that  I don't  know  of,  and  I 've  had 
enough  of  it.  You  can  go  to  the  Duroys  or  anywhere  else 
you  like  ; you  can  get  into  any  kind  of  trouble  at  school ; 
only  don't  expect  me  to  write  and  explain  things  to  the 
masters  when  they  find  you  out  and  want  to  expel  you. 


I5° 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


I 'll  pay  for  your  education — it 's  my  duty — but  I won't  stir 
a finger  even  to  save  you  from  the  common  hangman.  I 've 
had  enough  of  that  kind  of  thing.' 

This  lurid  outburst,  with  its  highly  sensational  climax, 
set  all  the  boy's  nerves  tingling  with  irritation.  His  lips 
became  fixed  in  the  firm  line  which,  long  ago,  had  interested 
Gabriel  Searle,  and  there  was  an  obstinate  gleam  in  his  eyes. 
How  absurd  it  was,  he  thought,  this  tumult  and  confusion 
about  nothing  whatsoever  ! His  father  seemed  to  take  an 
actual  pleasure  in  creating  an  atmosphere  of  intense  dis- 
comfort, in  ruining  the  peace  of  the  house  with  his  furies  and 
suspicions.  It  was  such  meaningless  violence,  pitched  in 
such  an  impossible  high  key  ! The  wild  injustice  of  the 
accusations  launched  at  him  troubled  him  far  less  than  the 
brutal  manner  in  which  they  were  expressed  ; such  invective 
seemed  to  have  no  relation  with  real,  harmonious  life  ; it 
would  have  been  impossible  from  any  other  person,  in  any 
other  house.  If  his  father  had  broken  out  in  that  way  at 
Parnasse,  for  instance,  Mr.  Duroy  would  have  smiled,  and 
locked  him  up  in  a cupboard,  and  sent  for  all  the  doctors  in 
the  county.  To-morrow,  he  knew,  the  storm  would  have 
subsided  ; for  a few  days  his  father  would  laboriously  remem- 
ber that  ‘ Denis  was  in  disgrace,'  and  then  they  would  resume 
their  usual  relations  until  something  else  occurred  to  provoke 
another  tornado. 

This  one  had  almost  roared  itself  out.  4 You  use  oaths, 
you  disobey  me,  you  confess  to  having  evil  thoughts,  and 
you  're  inattentive  in  church,'  said  Dr.  Yorke.  ‘ I 've  noticed 
several  times  when  Mr.  Searle  has  been  here  that  you  use 
your  knowledge  of  the  Bible  in  asking  him  questions  which 
he  can't  answer,  questions  which  shouldn't  ever  enter  the 
mind  of  a faithful  Christian.  I believe  that  you  give  ten 
times  more  thought  to  music  than  to  religion.  You  are  a 
bitter  disappointment  to  me,  Denis,  and  upon  my  soul  I 
neither  know  nor  care  what  is  going  to  become  of  you.  Your 
future  is  your  own  concern,  and  that  of  your  friends  at  school 
and  here.  I wish  you  joy  of  them.  Don’t  imagine  that  I 
shall  change  ; I mean  every  word  that  I 've  said,  and  I 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


I5i 

intend  to  treat  you  henceforward  as  an  ordinary  acquaintance 
whom  I am  obliged  to  have  in  my  house.  It  hurts  me  to  say 
this/  he  concluded,  ‘ but  I can't  go  on  trying  to  help  you  any 
longer  when  I see  that  you  haven't  a spark  of  affection  left 
for  me.' 

The  last  words  were  uttered  in  a tone  of  deep  self-pity, 
and  in  some  way  they  seemed  to  endow  Denis,  not  with 
remorse,  but  with  sudden  insight  that  removed  all  restraint 
from  his  intense  irritation.  Dr.  Yorke  had  scarcely  realised 
that  his  son,  with  a strangely  transfigured  aspect,  had  ad- 
vanced towards  him,  when  Denis  broke  out  passionately  : 

‘ I don't  believe  you  ! I don't  believe  a single  word  of 
what  you  said  ! It  doesn't  hurt  you  : you  enjoy  it ! ’ 

Dr.  Yorke  sprang  up. 

‘ Denis  ! ' he  cried. 

The  boy  looked  at  him  with  a face  that  seemed  suddenly 
to  have  grown  very  old  and  very  wise. 

‘ You  enjoy  it,'  he  said  slowly,  ‘ just  as  some  fellows  enjoy 
bullying  at  school.' 

Dr.  Yorke  uttered  a stifled  cry,  and  stood  staring  at  him 
for  a moment  as  if  he  were  some  curious  animal.  Then  a 
gleam  came  into  his  eyes,  and  his  face  darkened  to  crimson. 

‘ Little  fiend  ! ' he  said,  ‘ little  fiend  ! ' 

He  struck  Denis  heavily  with  his  open  hand.  The  boy  went 
down  like  a ninepin  ; his  head  crashed  against  the  edge  of 
the  writing-table,  and  he  slipped  to  the  floor,  where  he  lay  in 
a crumpled  attitude.  The  blood  ran  down  from  his  temple 
into  his  eyes  and  mouth.  Dr.  Yorke  stood  above  him, 
blankly  surveying  his  first  attempt  in  the  art  of  non- 
interference. 


152 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


XIX 

DENIS  remained  in  bed  with  a bandage  on  his  temples 
and  bewilderment  in  his  soul.  Although  his  father 
had  never  before  struck  him,  it  was  not  the  remembrance  of 
the  blow  that  puzzled  him,  but  the  unforgettable  expression 
on  Dr.  Yorke’s  face — a grim  disapproval  which  had  deepened, 
as  it  seemed,  to  a glare  of  actual  hatred.  His  eyes  had  grown 
cruel,  and  therefore  strange  ; it  seemed  as  if  some  evil  spirit 
had  suddenly  taken  up  its  abode  in  his  body,  and  when  Denis 
had  said  that  he  enjoyed  the  kind  of  scene  which  had  happened, 
some  dreadful  transformation  took  place  in  him  ; his  features 
were  convulsed  like  those  of  poor  Madden  when  he  was 
surrounded  by  the  tormentors. 

As  he  lay  there  with  a throbbing  head  Denis  felt  very 
miserable.  The  smarting  sense  of  irritation  had  left  him  ; 
the  spirit  of  defiance  was  dead  (it  is  always  difficult  to  com- 
bine it  with  a headache  and  a recumbent  attitude),  and  he 
began  to  think  that  he  must  have  behaved  execrably.  What 
a scene  it  had  been, — how  noisy,  how  crude,  how  ugly  ! He 
had  been  insolent  to  his  father  in  a deliberate  way  which 
astonished  him  when  he  looked  back  on  it,  and  his  father  had 
shrieked  at  him  like  an  angry  child.  Each  of  them  had 
suddenly  become  some  one  quite  different,  and  some  one  not 
at  all  admirable.  Denis  writhed  in  his  bed  as  he  thought  of 
the  futility  of  the  whole  affair  ; it  had  begun  with  misunder- 
standing— he  and  his  father  were  always,  it  seemed,  at  cross- 
purposes— and  it  had  resulted  in  an  undignified  exhibition 
of  fury  and  impertinence,  a broken  head,  and  a thoroughly 
uncomfortable  atmosphere  which  Dr.  Yorke  would  feel  it 
his  duty  to  maintain  as  long  as  possible, — as  long,  that  is, 
as  he  could  bear  it.  Denis  never  doubted  that  their  hostile 
relations  would  end  within  a week. 

His  head  ached  more  and  more,  and  he  shifted  it  on  the 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


153 


pillow,  searching  for  a cool  place.  The  bandage  became  like 
a hot  ring  of  iron,  and  he  felt  a thrill  of  self-pity  steal  over 
him  as  he  thought  how  easy  life  would  be  if  only  his  father 
understood  him — understood  him  with  the  wisdom  of 
Rosalind  and  Mr.  Duroy  ! Then  he  fell  into  a manlier  train 
of  thought ; after  all,  he  himself  was  to  blame  ; one  couldn’t 
expect  to  be  understood  if  one  heaped  insolence  on  dis- 
obedience ; he  had  made  his  father  unhappy ; there  was 
nothing  for  it  but  to  ask  for,  and  to  earn,  his  pardon.  He  felt 
happier  for  a moment  when  he  had  come  to  this  conclusion, 
but  his  heart  sank  as  he  remembered  that  his  father  imagined 
him  to  be  guilty  of  all  sorts  of  wickedness.  It  was  forgiveness 
of  these  uncommitted  sins,  and  not  of  a single  act  of  dis- 
obedience, that  he  would  have  to  earn,  for  it  seemed  to  him 
impossible  to  prove  that  he  was  not  wholly  iniquitous.  How 
could  he  prove  it  ? By  doing  nothing  in  future  which  his 
father  could  possibly  think  wrong  ? That  wouldn’t  prove 
his  previous  innocence,  the  guiltiest  wretches  have  occasional 
lapses  into  virtue  ; and  also,  his  father’s  view  of  what  was 
wrong  seemed  so  shifting,  so  hard  to  fathom  ! 

The  pain  in  his  head  became  almost  intolerable  ; he  tossed 
about  until  his  bed  was  like  a hot  oven  full  of  lumps  and 
spikes,  trying  to  induce  his  mind  to  follow  another  train  of 
thought.  But  as  soon  as  it  seemed  to  be  safely  occupied 
in  trying  to  remember  the  exact  position  of  certain  notes  of 
music  on  a page,  or  to  be  embarked  on  some  adventurous 
sea  of  romance,  the  wretched  thing  would  return  with  mocking 
swiftness  to  its  old  trouble,  and  the  whole  scene  would  be 
fierily  re-enacted  in  Denis’s  brain. 

Dr.  Yorke  came  to  see  him  in  the  early  morning  and  late 
afternoon,  but  his  visits  were  strictly  professional ; he  merely 
asked  two  or  three  questions,  changed  the  bandages,  and 
departed.  He  uttered  neither  greeting  nor  farewell,  and 
when  he  discovered  Denis  in  the  act  of  trying  to  escape  from 
his  thoughts  by  reading  The  Earthly  Paradise  he  did  not 
rebuke  him. 

f I should  advise  you  mot  to  read,’  was  all  that  he  said. 

Denis  followed  the  advice,  though  lying  still  and  thinking 


154 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


gave  him  a worse  pain  in  his  head  than  that  caused  by  all 
the  adventures  of  Gudrun  and  Aslaug  and  the  Man  born  to 
be  King. 

His  father's  coldness  preyed  upon  his  mind  as  no  amount 
of  harsh  treatment  would  have  done  ; he  felt  more  and  more 
that  the  only  means  of  escape  from  his  painful  thoughts  lay 
in  the  expression  of  repentance,  and  one  morning  he  made 
his  effort.  His  resentment  of  his  father's  attitude  had  died, 
and  he  felt  honestly  sorry  for  his  own  wilfulness.  When 
Dr.  Yorke  extended  a hand  to  feel  his  pulse  he  caught  it  in 
his  own. 

‘ I 'm  sorry,'  he  said  : ‘ I see  what  a beast  I was  to  do  what 
you  told  me  not  to.  I 'll  try  and  behave  decently  after  this. 
Won't  you  forgive  me  ? ' 

But  Dr.  Yorke  snatched  his  hand  away  roughly. 

‘ It 's  no  use  trying  to  get  round  me  in  that  way,'  he  said. 

4 You  heard  what  I said  the  other  day  ; you  needn't  ever 
expect  that  I shall  either  forget  or  forgive.  Don't  try  to 
curry  favour  with  me  again.  I know  too  well  what  it  means.' 

He  marched  out  of  the  room,  treading  heavily.  Denis 
lay  back  on  his  pillow  with  a face  as  pale  as  the  bandage  on  his 
brow. 

‘ Oh,  very  well,'  he  said  to  the  doorway,  ‘ very  well.  Catch 
me  trying  to  be  sorry  again,  that 's  all.'  And  the  old 
rebellious  thoughts  came  surging  back  into  his  soul,  and  held 
high  carnival  there  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  But  his  headache 
was  worse  than  ever.  He  was  delirious  when  Dr.  Yorke 
came  to  see  him  in  the  evening,  and  hid  from  him  under  the 
bedclothes.  For  three  days  he  was  painfully,  though  not 
dangerously,  ill ; interminable  tunes  echoed  in  his  head,  and 
the  pattern  of  the  wall-paper  became  horribly  alive.  His 
recovery  was  not  accelerated  by  the  fact  that  on  two  occasions 
he  left  his  bed  and  began  to  put  on  his  clothes  with  the 
intention  of  going  to  Parnasse.  Dr.  Yorke  sent  to  the  nearest 
town  for  a nurse.  She  had  a broad,  rosy  face  and  a very 
white  cap  and  apron,  and  was  attentive  and  gentle  ; but 
when  Denis  grew  better  she  tried  to  cheer  him  by  telling  him 
all  the  local  gossip,  and  this  well-meant  effort  bored  him  into 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


155 


another  headache.  He  noticed  that  she  became  self-con- 
scious and  assumed  a different  kind  of  voice  when  his  father 
was  in  the  room.  Dr.  Yorke  never  spoke  to  him  when  she 
was  present.  She  did  not  remain  for  long,  however.  The 
nervous  crisis  passed,  and  the  wounded  head  healed  very 
quickly.  At  length  he  could  read  without  feeling  that  little 
goblins  were  stabbing  the  backs  of  his  eyes  with  their  spears  ; 
and  therefore  he  persuaded  the  old  housekeeper,  who  brought 
him  his  meals  and  administered  medicine  to  him  with 
extreme  punctuality,  to  collect  all  the  books  which  he  had 
left  in  various  parts  of  the  house  and  to  pile  them  in  a 
delightful  heap  by  his  bedside. 

The  wealth  of  literature  at  his  command  was  quite  embar- 
rassing, for  Lenwood,  at  the  end  of  term,  had  won  a school 
prize,  and  had  replaced  various  cheap  editions  of  English 
classics  by  opulent  volumes  which  were  bound  in  tree-calf 
and  stamped  with  the  school  arms.  The  cheap  editions  he 
presented  to  Denis,  who,  he  intimated,  would  derive  great 
instruction  from  observing  the  various  passages  which  had 
been  marked  by  their  original  owner.  Denis  browsed  happily 
amongst  masterpieces  for  three  days,  meditating,  with  a 
brain  that  seemed  to  be  swept  and  garnished  and  ready  for 
all  manner  of  new  impressions,  on  the  various  problems 
offered  to  him  by  the  great  thinkers  of  old  days  ; wrestling 
also  with  an  even  more  difficult  question, — how  to  read  in 
bed  without  suffering  afterwards  from  cramps  and  pangs  of 
every  kind.  To  lie  prone  with  your  heels  in  the  air  and  the 
book  propped  against  the  pillow  was  delightful  for  five  minutes, 
unendurable  for  ten  ; to  lie  on  either  side,  whether  propped 
on  your  elbow  or  your  shoulder,  made  you  feel,  if  the  book 
was  interesting  and  you  forgot  to  shift  your  position,  as  if  your 
arm  had  been  injected  with  liquid  lead  which  had  cooled  ; 
to  lie  on  your  back  with  the  book  resting  on  a pillow  which 
rested  on  you,  was  splendid  until  you  began  to  suffer  from  a 
kind  of  paralysis  which  started  at  your  waist  and  crept  down 
the  back  of  your  thighs  ; and  if  you  moved,  your  carefully 
adjusted  lectern  could  never  be  induced  to  return  to  exactly 
the  right  attitude.  Denis,  like  all  the  other  sages  of  the 


156 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


world  who  have  considered  the  problem,  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  it  could  only  be  solved  by  suspending  a reading- 
stand  from  the  ceiling  so  that  it  hung  exactly  in  front  of  his 
nose  ; but  when  he  tried  to  fix  a hook  above  his  head,  huge 
cracks  ran  across  the  ceiling,  like  flaws  in  the  ice  beneath  a 
ponderous  skater,  and  his  eyes,  his  hair,  and  his  bed  were 
entirely  filled  with  plaster. 

He  read  new  books  and  old  all  day,  and  if  there  were 
moments  when  he  felt  tempted  to  lie  staring  at  the  wall- 
paper and  thinking  of  his  father's  obduracy,  he  fought  against 
the  impulse.  He  had  begun  to  realise  that  thought  of  this 
kind  was  wholly  fruitless,  and  resulted  in  headaches  and 
despair  ; he  had  begun  to  believe,  too,  that  his  father's  atti- 
tude really  might  be  permanent ; and  when  his  old  lonely 
habit  of  mind  set  him  instinctively  on  the  search  for  com- 
pensation, he  thought  of  Parnasse,  and  thrilled  with  a joy 
that  was  not  without  its  ingredient  of  revenge.  If  his  father 
intended  to  treat  him  like  a mere  acquaintance  whose  presence 
he  was  obliged  to  tolerate,  but  whose  intimacy  was  quite  un- 
desirable, at  any  rate  the  mere  acquaintance  would  be  free 
to  go  his  own  way — had,  indeed,  been  invited  to  do  so — 
and  the  way,  of  course,  was  straight  over  the  hill  to  the 
Duroys,  and  Beethoven,  and  Mozart,  and  the  poodle.  No 
amount  of  renunciation,  he  felt,  would  re-establish  his  friend- 
ship with  his  father,  therefore  why  renounce  the  best  thing 
in  life  ? If  it  were  going  to  hurt  his  father  it  would  be  another 
matter,  but  now,  of  course,  his  father  was  quite  indifferent 
to  his  actions.  He  had  said  so  himself.  This  last  piece  of 
reasoning  did  not  really  quite  convince  Denis,  but  he  managed, 
after  some  hesitation,  to  let  himself  think  it  was  wholly  con- 
clusive. Youth,  says  the  philosopher,  has  a wisdom  of  its 
own.  It  has  also  its  own  peculiar  sophistry. 

Having  arrived  at  these  conclusions,  Denis,  as  it  were, 
labelled  them  as  final,  put  them  away  in  the  back  of  his  mind, 
and  betook  himself  to  the  study  of  the  literature  of  his 
country.  He  did  not  at  first  realise  that  behind  that  calm 
acceptance  of  the  situation  there  was  a deep  sense  of  resent- 
ment against  his  father  ; he  had  almost  forgotten  the  sudden 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


157 


intuitive  conviction  that  had  flashed  like  lightning  across 
his  bewilderment  and  showed  him  that  Dr.  Yorke  really  took 
an  ignoble  pleasure  in  scolding  him  for  all  sorts  of  vague 
crimes.  But  the  resentment  took  complete  possession  of  him 
during  a certain  short  dialogue  that  was  spoken  in  his  room. 
He  was  nearly  well  ■ his  father  came  in,  told  him  curtly 
that  he  could  get  up  if  he  wished,  and  was  on  the  point  of 
departing  when  there  was  a knock  at  the  door,  and  Gabriel 
Searle  entered. 

‘ Denis,  you  wretch,  what  do  you  mean  by  being  ill  and 
not  letting  the  great  world  know  ? * he  cried,  sitting  down  at 
the  foot  of  the  bed.  ‘ Why  didn't  you  tell  me  ? ' he  added, 
turning  to  Dr.  Yorke,  who  looked  distinctly  uncomfortable. 
‘ What  has  been  the  matter  ? ' For  the  wounded  head  was 
no  longer  in  bandages. 

‘ I hurt  my  head,'  said  Denis.  He  looked  at  his  father 
and  felt  a sudden,  quite  wicked  thrill  of  pleasure,  Which 
puzzled  him  when  he  thought  about  it  afterwards. 

Dr.  Yorke  came  to  the  bedside  and  spoke  in  a somewhat 
artificial  voice. 

‘ Clumsiness,  clumsiness  ! ' he  said.  * He  fell  down  and  hit 
his  head  against  the  edge  of  a table.  He 's  all  right  again 
now,  but  I think  he  had  a touch  of  influenza  when  he  did  it, 
and  that  made  him  feverish  for  a day  or  two.' 

4 Oh  ! ' cried  Denis  involuntarily,  with  the  intonation  of 
a boy  at  whose  expense  a schoolfellow  has  lied  to  a master. 
Dr.  Yorke  looked  at  him  for  a moment,  and  frowned.  In  that 
moment  he  finally  descended  from  his  pedestal. 

Denis  was  overwhelmed  with  amazement,  and  hardly  heard 
what  Gabriel  Searle  said  to  him.  His  father,  the  paragon 
of  all  virtue,  had  prevaricated  ! He  never  realised  that  there 
might  be  excellent  reasons  for  not  publishing  a sordid  family 
squabble  ; it  seemed  to  him  that  his  father  had  told  a lie 
simply  to  hide  his  own  brutal  behaviour.  It  was  a confession 
that  he  was  in  the  wrong.  Yet  he  would  continue,  of  course, 
to  regard  his  son  as  an  abandoned  young  imp  of  evil ! Denis 
writhed  with  indignation.  4 It 's  horrible  ! it  isn't  fair  ! 9 
he  felt  impelled  to  cry  ; but  what  was  the  use  ? His  father 


158  THE  FIRST  ROUND 

would  only  tell  Mr.  Searle  that  he  was  mad  or  delirious,  and 
always  told  lies. 

Gabriel  Searle  realised  that  something  was  wrong,  and  his 
lazy  dread  of  anything  that  approached  a scene  made  him 
talk  on  all  sorts  of  subjects  to  Denis,  who  lay  there  staring 
at  him  without  appearing  to  hear  what  he  said.  After  a 
while  he  went  downstairs  with  Dr.  Yorke  ; and  then  Denis 
turned  to  the  wall,  and  lay  there  with  tightly  clenched  fists 
and  wide  eyes.  So  his  father  was  afraid  to  admit  the  truth  ! 
He  didn't — it  was  obvious — care  in  the  least  what  Mr.  Searle 
and  every  one  else  thought  of  his  son  as  long  as  his  own  dignity 
did  not  suffer  ; he  had  shuffled  in  exactly  the  same  way  as 
Halliwell  during  the  episode  of  the  Bohn  translation.  That 
fairly  settled  everything,  decided  Denis  ; since  his  father 
had  resolved  to  treat  him  as  unreliable  and  subtle,  he  would 
retaliate  in  kind  ; there  was  every  excuse  for  such  an  attitude 
on  his'side,  for  at  least  he  had  never  lied  at  his  father's  expense 
in  order  to  shield  himself.  The  hard,  short-sighted  logic  of 
youth  proved  to  him  that,  however  greatly  he  might  have 
annoyed  his  father,  the  recent  scene  made  the  balance  true 
between  them, — or  even  gave  him  the  advantage,  for  wasn't 
it  worse  to  tell  lies  than  to  be  disobedient,  especially  when 
the  disobedience  was  primarily  an  act  of  defiance,  and  was 
followed  by  immediate,  if  defiant,  confession  ? 

Yes  ; that  settled  everything.  If  his  father  was  cold  and 
indifferent  to  him,  he  would  be  equally  indifferent  and  cold  ; 
he  would  show  that  the  wrong  wasn't  all  on  one  side.  He  set 
his  teeth  as  he  stared  at  the  wall-paper,  and  felt  very  stern 
and  determined  ; but  he  could  not  help  feeling  somewhat 
forlorn  as  well.  However,  the  last  sensation  would  depart, 
he  knew,  when  he  saw  the  Duroys. 

If  he  could  have  heard  what  his  father  was  saying  to 
Gabriel  Searle  in  the  study,  a great  factor  in  his  subsequent 
mental  growth  would  have  been  eliminated,  and  his  heart 
would  have  been  all  the  lighter. 

‘ That  is  what  really  happened,'  said  Dr.  Yorke.  ‘ I didn't 
tell  you  when  we  were  in  his  room  because ' He  paused. 

‘ Because  you  knew  it  would  be  awkward  for  him,'  said 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


iS9 

Gabriel  Searle.  4 You  really  are  the  most  extraordinary 
mixture  of  tender-heartedness  and  downright  bad  temper. 

I 'm  extremely  glad  that  I 'm  not  one  of  your  patients/ 

Dr.  Yorke  knitted  his  bushy  brows.  Searle  felt  sorry  for 
him  ; he  looked  so  worn  and  grey.  There  was  no  doubt, 
Gabriel  thought,  that  the  boy  was  rather  a handful ; the  artist 
spirit  was  developing  in  him  very  rapidly,  and  Yorke  would 
sympathise  with  it  about  as  easily  as  he  would  feel  fraternal 
towards  the  Pope. 

4 I don't  think  that  was  the  reason,'  said  Dr.  Yorke.  ‘ The 
fact  is  that  Denis  and  I have  drifted  further  and  further 
apart  in  the  last  year.  He  has  grown  much  too  independent — 
he 's  a mere  child — and  I can  see  that  almost  everything  I 
say  irritates  him.  I 'm  afraid  he 's  gone  wrong  at  school.' 

‘ I don't  believe  it,'  said  Gabriel. 

‘ Oh,  you  always  took  his  part,'  muttered  Dr.  Yorke. 
* And  he  has  developed  underhand  ways.  He  disobeys  me 
openly,  and  then  pretends  that  he 's  sorry.  A moment  after 
he  defies  me — absolutely  defies  me.  I 'm  absolutely  sick  of 
it  all ; he 's  a failure,  and  I suppose  I 'm  a failure  too.  I 've 
made  up  my  mind  to  let  him  go  his  own  way.  I 've  done  my 
best  for  him,  and  it  has  all  been  useless  ; we  'll  see  if  he  'll 
do  better  without  me.  That 's  what  he  complains  of — that 
I 'm  always  interfering.  We  'll  see  how  the  experiment  of 
leaving  him  alone  will  work  out.' 

‘ I think  that  you  're  rather  vindictive,'  said  Searle.  4 You 
said  a moment  ago  that  he  was  a mere  child  ; don't  you  think 
that  it 's  a little  dangerous  to  try  experiments  with  mere 
children  ? I only  ask  for  information  ; I never  had  any 
children,  mere  or  otherwise,  worse  luck.' 

‘ At  any  rate,  it 's  his  duty  to  try  and  win  me  back,'  said 
Dr.  Yorke,  with  a wistful  expression  that  made  the  odd  phrase 
seem  to  Gabriel  pathetic  rather  than  amusing.  ‘ I 've  given 
him  his  freedom  ; I shan't  interfere  with  him  at  all,  and  I 
shan't  make  any  advances.  I used  to  do  that  formerly, 
after  we  had  disagreed,  but  this  time  the  thing  has  gone  too 
far.  ...  Of  course,  I was  a fool  to  strike  him.  My  God, 
Searle,'  he  cried  suddenly,  ‘ I thought  he  was  dead  ! ' 


i6o 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


‘ Well,  he  isn't/  said  Gabriel,  intentionally  prosaic,  ‘ but 
you  will  be  shortly,  if  you  continue  to  fight  phantoms  and 
worry  about  nothing,  and  I shall  write  felo  de  se  on  your 
headstone.  I expect  you  will  find  that  Denis  will  come 
running  to  you  very  soon,  full  of  sincere  remorse  and  affection. 
Or  else  you  'll  go  running  to  him.' 

Dr.  Yorke's  face  was  like  an  iron  mask.  ‘ Never  ! ' he 
said  slowly. 

Gabriel  looked  at  him  steadily  for  a moment,  and  then  rose. 

‘ Oh  well,'  he  said,  ‘ the  feud  will  end  somehow, — and  then 
you  '11  begin  all  over  again,  until  Denis  grows  old  enough 
to  realise  that  there  is  a really  decent  individual  lurking 
shyly  beneath  your  roaring  and  rage  and  sentimentalism, 
and  you  discover  that  his  wilfulness  is  only  the  working  of  a 
temperament  that  is  fighting  its  way  through  folly  to  wisdom. 
Write  to  me  when  the  experiment  is  over,  and  I 'll  give  a tea- 
party  to  celebrate  the  occasion.' 

But  Dr.  Yorke  shook  his  head,  and,  upstairs,  Denis  was 
vowing  that  the  experiment  should  be  interminable. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


161 


XX 

‘ T T E looked  just  like  an  angry  old  gentleman  in  an  early 
11  Victorian  novel/  said  Noel ; 4 I assure  you  that  I 
was  never  so  badly  scared  in  the  whole  course  of  my  timid 
life.  He  came  into  the  hall  just  when  I was  asking  if  Denis 
was  better.  44  Oh  ! ” he  said,  looking  over  my  shoulder 
at  the  view,  44  are  you  Mr.  Tellier  ? ” I had  to  admit  it, 
and  added  that  I had  come  to  inquire  after  his  beloved  son. 
44  He ’s  better,”  he  said  ; 44  he  had  an  accident,  but  he ’s 
decidedly  better.  He  isn’t  allowed  to  see  any  one.”  He 
still  looked  over  my  shoulder  at  the  view,  and  I somehow 
knew  that  he  was  getting  up  steam  for  some  uncomplimentary 
remark.  So  I took  off  my  cap  and  wished  him  good-afternoon. 
Then  he  looked  at  me.  44  Aren’t  you  one  of  Denis’s  school- 
fellows ? ” he  asked,  and  then,  without  giving  me  a chance 
to  apologise  for  daring  to  allow  myself  that  privilege,  he  said, 
44  Let  me  tell  you,  young  sir,  that  I don’t  think  either  you  or 
your  school  have  done  Denis  any  good.”  I said,  44  Oh,  how 
unfortunate  ! ” or  something  equally  fatuous.  He  glared 
like  a wolf  at  me,  and  stalked  away,  leaving  me  to  wither 
gradually  on  the  doorstep.  Think  of  trampling  on  the 
feelings  of  a poor  inoffensive  young  thing  like  me  ! I’m 
broken-spirited  for  life  ; any  slight  shock  will  make  me  burst 
into  tears.’ 

4 He ’s  a cantankerous  old  rascal,’  said  Mr.  Duroy. 

4 I think  he ’s  sad,’  said  Rosalind  slowly.  Mr.  Duroy 
turned  towards  her  and  stroked  her  dark  head. 

4 Why  do  you  think  that  ? ’ he  asked. 

She  looked  up  at  him  gravely,  and  then  bent  over  the 
stocking  that  she  was  darning. 

4 He  looks  unhappy,’  was  all  that  she  answered. 

4 He  looked  like  a German  salad  when  he  talked  to  me,’ 
said  Noel  cheerfully.  4 I believe  that  he  locks  Denis  up  in 

L 


162 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


the  coal-cellar  and  beats  him  twice  a day  with  a hot  toasting- 
fork.  He 's  a churchwarden  ; you  never  can  trust  them. 
Judas  Iscariot  was  a sort  of  churchwarden,  wasn't  he?  I 
think  we  ought  to  go  and  rescue  Denis/ 

Rosalind  dropped  the  stocking  and  clasped  her  hands  on 
her  knee.  ‘ I do  want  to  see  him,  Noel ! ' she  said,  with  fine 
candour. 

Noel  laughed.  He  was  sprawling  on  the  carpet  in  front 
of  the  fire.  Mr.  Duroy  was  turning  over  some  drawings  in 
a portfolio  and  humming  softly,  like  an  immense,  happy 
bumble-bee. 

‘ If  he  doesn't  come  and  see  you  soon,'  said  the  latter, 
looking  up  and  removing  a huge  pair  of  pince-nez  from  his 
nose,  ‘ he  won't  recognise  you.  You  're  growing  into  quite 
another  person,  and  I warn  you  that  I 'm  like  the  King  in 
Alice  in  Wonderland  : I refuse  to  allow  any  one  more  than  a 
mile  high  to  live  in  my  house.  Your  toes  are  actually  growing 
through  your  stocking,'  he  added,  holding  up  that  article  of 
apparel.  * Why  can't  you  grow  upwards  and  not  downwards  ? ' 

She  laughed  quietly.  ‘ Daddy,  I can’t  think  why  ! ' she 
said. 

Noel  shook  a warning  finger  towards  her. 

‘ Oh,  you  're  in  for  it ! ' he  said.  ‘ The  awkward  age  ! 
You  'll  be  like  me  ; I 'm  in  the  middle  of  it  now.  When  you 
walk  into  a room  your  feet  will  fly  round  in  curves  and 
semicircles  instead  of  moving  quietly  in  a straight  line  ) 
your  elbows  will  grow  hard  and  sharp,  and  they  'll  shoot  out 
suddenly  when  you  are  close  to  nice  old  gentlemen  with  large 
white  waistcoats ; and  if  you  are  anywhere  near  tea-tables, 
or  collections  of  old  china,  or  plate-glass  windows,  some 
awful,  invisible  Power  will  come  behind  you  and  push  you 
into  them.  When  you  meet  strangers  you  'll  turn  purple 
and  your  throat  will  dry  up  and  your  eyes  will  water.  You  'll 
say  No  for  Yes,  and  Yes  for  No,  and  talk  in  a gruff  voice  just 
when  you  want  to  be  especially  nice  to  people.  If  you  walk 
down  a street  you  'll  feel  that  every  one  is  watching  you  with 
hideous  suspicion  in  his  heart.  When  you  go  to  a party 
you  '11  sit,  if  you  're  a man,  on  an  old  lady's  knee,  or  if  you  're 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


163 


) 


u 


a woman,  in  a plate  of  ices.  Any  silly  ordinary  mistake  that 
you  make  will  seem  an  absolutely  unforgivable  crime,  and 
you  ’ll  brood  over  it  for  days.  Your  life  will  be  one  long 
nightmare  of  blushes,  feet,  elbows,  choking  and  vague  terror. 
That/  concluded  Noel,  4 is  the  Awkward  Age.  But  you 
needn’t  be  afraid,  my  Rosalind  ; you  ’ll  have  a very  mild 
attack,  and  you  ’ll  recover  completely.  Some  people  never 
recover.  I shall  be  morose  and  surly  to  the  end  of  my 
days,  just  like  your  poor  dear  father.  Ah  ! humble  life  has 
its  tragedies.’ 

Rosalind  listened  to  him  solemnly,  and  when  he  had 
finished,  she  said,  4 I believe  that ’s  what ’s  the  matter  with 
Dr.  Yorke.’ 

A moment  later  they  heard  Narcisse  barking  in  the  garden, 
there  was  a sound  of  swift  feet  on  the  stairs,  and  Denis 
appeared  in  the  doorway,  looking  rather  white  and  very 
much  excited. 

‘ May  I come  in  ? ’ he  said  : 4 I couldn’t  come  before  ; 
I ’ve  been  ill,  and  this  is  the  first  day  I ’ve  been  allowed  out. 
Oh  ! it  is  jolly  to  see  you  ! ’ 

The  last  words  were  a real  cry  from  the  heart,  and  he  had 
to  hug  Narcisse  to  conceal  his  emotion  ; he  felt  ridiculously 
near  actual  tears  ; the  warmth  of  their  greeting  was  so 
exactly  like  all  he  had  imagined  it  would  be  when  he  lay  in 
bed  ! They  put  him  in  the  deepest  armchair  and  behaved 
as  if  he  had  returned  from  some  perilous  voyage  in  distant 
seas. 

4 You  look  rather  too  ghostly  to  be  true,’  said  Mr.  Duroy, 
4 and  you  ’re  so  thin  that  you  vanish  altogether  when  I look 
at  you  sideways.  Marie  must  take  you  in  hand  at  once.’ 

Denis  asserted  emphatically  that  he  was  the  epitome  of 
good  health.  Then  he  looked  at  Noel. 

4 I say,’  he  said,  4 I ’ve  only  just  heard  that  you  came 
round  this  morning.’  He  paused. 

Noel  waved  a benignant  hand. 

4 Oh  ! any  little  thing  that  I can  do  for  you ’ he  said 

vaguely.  4 We  have  been  discussing  the  awkward  age. 
Uncle  and  I are  in  the  middle  of  it  and  you  and  Rosalind  are 


1 64  THE  FIRST  ROUND 

just  at  the  first  stage.  Let  us  all  walk  round  the  room  and 
break  things.' 

But  Denis  refused  to  acquiesce  in  the  change  of  subject. 
Obviously  he  had  rushed  over  from  the  Red  House  for  some 
grave  purpose,  and  was  not  to  be  diverted. 

* It  was  jolly  good  of  you  to  come,'  he  said  to  Noel ; * and 
I 'm  sorry — I 'm  sorry — I know  what  happened, — what  he 
said.  Our  housekeeper  heard  him.  It 's  simply  sickening 
that  he  should  speak  to  you  like  that,  and  I Ve  come  to  beg 
your  pardon.  I won't  forgive  him,  ever  ! ' 

He  was  violently  excited  and  his  face  was  deathly  white. 
Noel  looked  at  him  for  some  moments  with  a steady  smile. 

‘ Try  not  to  be  a pestiferous  plague-spot,'  he  said  cheerfully. 

Mr.  Duroy  rose,  took  Denis  by  the  shoulders,  and  urged 
him  gently  towards  the  piano.  But  Rosalind  sat  quite  still, 
like  a small  enchanted  princess,  and  stared  at  Denis  with  her 
great  eyes.  She  made  one  of  her  odd,  inconsequent  remarks 
when  they  demanded  why  she  was  so  pensive. 

‘ I ’m  afraid  we  're  all  growing  up  ! ' she  murmured.  She 
went  to  her  father  and  leant  against  his  side.  ‘ Except  you, 
my  little  one  ! ' she  whispered  loudly  to  him. 

‘ Monster  ! ' said  Mr.  Duroy  : ‘ I will  grow  up  ; I hereby 
swear  it ; as  soon  as  I am  forty-five  I 'll  grow  up  suddenly 
in  the  night,  like  the  beanstalk  in  the  fairy-tale,  and  confound 
the  whole  lot  of  you.  Denis  ! after  all,  we  will  deny  our- 
selves the  privilege  of  hearing  you  play  to-day  ; you  may  lie 
in  two  armchairs  and  call  yourself  the  audience.  Rosalind  ! 
produce  your  lethal  instrument,  and  don’t  forget  the  repeat 
at  the  end  of  the  trio,  and  keep  time  as  if  a delay  of  a millionth 
part  of  a second  would  plunge  us  all  through  the  floor  amongst 
Marie's  pots  and  pans.  Do  the  same,  Denis,  if  you  snore. 
Noel  will  turn  over,  and  this  time  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  his 
fingers  won’t  be  all  thumbs,  and  his  thumbs,  toes.  Now 
then  . . . one,  two,  three.' 

It  was  Beethoven. 

Denis  lay  back  in  a deep  armchair,  and,  as  he  listened, 
a lethean  mist  seemed  to  drift  across  the  troubled  waters  of 
his  soul,  and  the  images  of  all  jarring  and  irritating  events 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


165 

became  vague  as  those  of  a dream  remembered  at  noonday. 
Nothing  in  his  life  seemed  real  except  the  hours  when  he  had 
shared  the  ecstasy  of  sun  and  wind  and  rain  on  the  high  ledges 
of  the  hills,  and  the  hours  which  he  had  passed  with  great 
dead  masters  and  with  these  dear  people.  ...  He  had  come 
home  from  unremembered  and  transitory  wanderings  ; peace 
had  been  waiting  for  him  in  this  room, — peace,  and  soft 
lights,  and  heavenly  music,  and  friends  ! 

He  watched  the  musicians  through  half-closed  eyes.  Mr. 
Duroy’s  head  was  moving  gently  from  side  to  side  as  he  played 
with  his  usual  incomparable  decision  and  delicacy  ; Rosalind's 
white  chin  was  pressed  firmly  against  the  dark  old  violin,  and 
there  was  the  little  line  in  her  brow  that  meant  acute  atten- 
tion but  was  not  in  the  least  anxious.  There  was  a new, 
deep  quality  in  her  playing  that  surprised  him  ; it  seemed 
to  surprise  Noel  also,  for  as  soon  as  a page  was  safely  turned 
(he  performed  this  office  admirably,  in  spite  of  Mr.  Duroy 
and  the  Awkward  Age)  he  looked  round  at  the  violinist  with 
obvious  joy.  For  a moment  the  thoughts  of  Denis  hovered 
towards  school.  How  the  other  men  in  the  Fifteen  would 
grin,  he  thought,  if  they  could  see  Noel  now  ! He  tried  to 
picture  the  superb  Arbuthnot  in  a similar  situation.  Or 
suppose,  he  thought,  that  Ellerton-Davidson  had  to  sit  here 
and  listen  ; how  dreadfully  bored  he  would  be  ! Not  only 
bored,  but  actually  uncomfortable,  as  if  he  had  been  entrapped 
into  taking  part  in  some  strange  religious  ceremony.  It  was 
queer  that  people  were  so  different.  Then  he  ceased  to  think, 
and  surrendered  himself  completely  to  the  spell  of  the  music. 

‘ Oh,  we  have  worked,  we  have  worked  whilst  you  were 
away  ! ’ said  Mr.  Duroy  when  the  sonata  was  ended,  and 
Denis  had  tried  to  express  his  pleasure. 

‘ What  else  was  there  to  do  when  you  weren’t  here,  mon 
Denis  ? ’ asked  Rosalind,  as  she  rubbed  her  bow  with  rosin. 
‘ Even  Noel  took  to  singing  scales.  He  has  made  up  a new 
one  which  can’t  be  done  on  any  kind  of  instrument,  but 
Narcisse  is  learning  to  imitate  it.  Daddy  calls  it  the  Veronese 
scale,  but  I forget  why.’ 

‘ I call  it  the  Veronese  scale,’  said  Mr.  Duroy,  ‘ because 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


1 66 

when  the  great  poet  Dante,  of  whom  you  have  never  heard, 
was  at  Verona,  he  was  the  guest  of  a person  called  Can  Grande 
della  Scala.  Ordinary  historians  think  that  Can  Grande  was 
a warrior  prince,  but  his  name  tells  me  that  he  was  a singer 
connected  with  the  Milan  Opera  House.  His  vocal  exercises 
annoyed  Dante,  who  wrote  in  his  Inferno  the  famous  line  of 
prophecy  to  himself  : “ tu  proverai  . . . com’  e duro  calle  lo 
scendere  e il  salir  per  1’altrui  scale,”  which  is,  being  inter- 
preted, “You  shall  learn  how  hard  to  bear  are  the  ups 
and  downs  of  the  scales  of  another.”  That  is  the  real  mean- 
ing, though  ordinary  scholars  imagine  that  scale  means  merely 
stairs/ 

‘ Yes,  that  ’s  the  reason  why/  said  Rosalind,  nodding 
gravely. 

4 I dor/t  know  what  you  all  mean,  with  your  heathen 
languages  and  infernals/  said  Noel,  ‘ but  I believe  that 
you  Ye  saying  unkind  things  about  my  sad,  sweet  voice. 
Denis,  you  blight-spot,  don’t  grin  at  me  ! Vous  avez  la  jouet 
alors  ! If  you  could  only  see  Denis  and  me  when  we  ’re  at 
school,  my  dears,  you  would  know  what  a hollow  sham  is  our 
present  appearance  of  intimacy.  I learn  up  all  the  tortures 
employed  by  bad  boys  in  pious  books  and  try  them  on  him, 
and  in  revenge,  when  there  is  a foreign  match,  and  I,  after 
infinite  labour,  manage  for  a brief,  lovely  moment  to  get 
possession  of  the  thing  which  we  call  a football,  Denis  rushes 
from  the  interested  crowd  of  spectators,  knocks  it  out  of  my 
hands,  kicks  me  thrice  on  the  shin,  and  retires  amid  deafening 
applause  from  boys  and  masters.  My  life  is  one  long  duel. 
I ’m  jolly  glad  that  I ’m  leaving  at  the  end  of  the 
summer.’ 

Denis  looked  at  him  with  startled  eyes. 

‘ You  aren’t  really  going  to  leave  ? ’ he  cried. 

‘ I am  indeed,’  said  Tellier,  ‘ and  so  is  Arbuthnot,  and  so  is 
Curds.  Arbuthnot ’s  going  to  Oxford  to  get  Blues  for  footer 
and  cricket  and  rowing  and  racquets  and  running  and  weight- 
putting and  long-jumping  and  boxing  and  water-polo,  and 
Curds  is  going  to  the  University  of  St.  Andy’s  to  take  a 
degree  in  golf.  The  poor  School ! there  ’ll  be  no  one  left 


THE  FIRST  ROUND  167 

except  you  and  a few  other  microbes.  They ’d  better  close 
it ; it ’s  had  its  brief  and  glorious  day/ 

4 And  what  are  you  going  to  do  ? ’ asked  Denis. 

4 Oh,  I ’m  going  to  Paris,  the  land  of  the  free,  where  I 
shall  continue  my  lofty  studies  and  earn  a large  fortune  by 
teaching  the  rudiments  of  the  English  language  to  eager 
Frenchmen.  Then  I shall  build  a huge  country-house  with 
three  lodges  and  a jasper  swimming-bath,  and  there  I shall 
entertain  uncle,  and  Rosalind,  and  you  if  you  're  good,  for 
the  rest  of  my  life — our  lives/ 

4 I sometimes  thought  of  your  leaving/  said  Denis.  His 
heart  sank  ; there  had  always  been  something  elusive  about 
Noel ; in  spite  of  his  ample  limbs  and  his  very  real  pink  face, 
he  had  sometimes  seemed  a fantastic  creature  whose  whim 
it  was  to  play  at  being  a schoolboy  and  then  to  disappear, 
to  drift  away  into  some  dim  haunt  of  romance — a garret 
set  high  above  the  pointed  roofs  of  some  grey  old  German 
town,  where  the  storks  roosted  on  the  housetops  and  the  elves 
danced  in  the  moonlight.  Or  he  would  be  lost  in  the  whirling 
life  of  some  immense  and  shining  city — Paris,  as  he  said, 
or  Vienna,  or  Rome  ; or,  perhaps,  he  would  sing  songs,  and 
hunt,  and  practise  polite  conversation  at  some  tiny  semi- 
feudal  court  in  Eastern  Europe.  Denis  could  imagine  him 
in  any  romantic  environment,  always  laughing,  always  appar- 
ently happy,  but  with  the  wandering  fever  in  his  blood,  like 
some  beautiful  wild  creature  that  has  grown  gentle  and  playful, 
but  will  not  endure  a long  restraint.  Noel  would  have  laughed 
immoderately  if  he  could  have  read  the  thoughts  that  passed 
so  swiftly  through  the  boy’s  mind  ; he  was  absolutely  without 
self-consciousness,  and  would  have  been  deeply  amused  to 
think  that  any  one  could  regard  him  as  a romantic  hero. 

4 Noel  isn’t  the  only  person  who  is  leaving  at  the  end  of 
the  summer,’  said  Duroy.  4 Our  happy  schooldays  are  nearly 
ended,  too  ; we ’ve  made  up  our  great  minds  really  to  grow 
up  and  to  go  to  Paris  and  paint  masterpieces  by  the  dozen. 
We  ’re  apt  to  get  too  musical  and  not  half  painty  enough  in 
this  England,  and  we  must  go  to  a big  city  to  find  a stern 
master  for  Rosalind.  Paris  is  the  place  ; London  is  too  full 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


1 68 

of  fogs  and  Royal  Academies.  Why,  Rosalind  ! I do  believe 
he ’s  sorry  that  you  're  going  away  to  become  a genius  ! ’ 

For  Denis  was  contemplating  him  with  an  expression  of 
blank  despair. 

4 Is  it  true  ? ’ he  asked.  Then  he  turned  to  Rosalind.  1 Is  it 
really  true  ? ’ he  repeated  slowly. 

Rosalind  went  over  to  him  and  hugged  him  shamelessly. 

* Dear  little  Denis,  I ’m  afraid  it ’s  true/  she  said  ; ‘ but 
it  won’t  matter,  you  know.  You  will  come  and  stay  with  us 
in  the  holidays,  and  see  Paris,  and  we  11  play  music  and  have 
a room  just  like  this.  And  I think/  she  concluded,  with  a 
funny  air  of  wisdom,  ‘ that  it  would  be  a very  good  thing  if 
daddy  adopted  you.  I ’ve  always  wanted  a brother/ 

4 You  had  better  consult  Dr.  Yorke  about  that ! ’ cried 
Mr.  Duroy. 

Rosalind  knelt  in  front  of  Denis  with  her  elbows  on  his  knees. 

‘ Would  he  mind  ? ’ she  asked  very  seriously. 

‘ He  wouldn’t  care  a bit,’  said  Denis,  and  the  rancour  in 
his  voice  startled  even  Mr.  Duroy.  ‘ I shan’t  be  able  to  bear 
it  when  you  ’re  gone,’  the  boy  muttered  after  a moment. 

‘ Flatterer  ! ’ said  Mr.  Duroy.  ‘ You  contrived  to  put  up 
with  life  before  we  dawned  upon  you  like  amazing  suns.’ 

‘ Ah  ! ’ said  Denis  ; ‘ I didn’t  know  you  then.  I didn’t 
think  there  were  such  people  in  the  world.’ 

He  spoke  in  a tone  of  solemn  conviction.  Rosalind  looked 
at  her  father. 

‘ Daddy,’  she  said,  ‘ we  won’t  go  to  Paris  after  all,  will 
we  ? We  ’ll  stay  here  and  look  after  Denis.  I know  he  ’ll 
never  practise  when  we  ’re  gone.’ 

But  Mr.  Duroy  shook  his  head. 

‘ I shall  never  grow  up  if  I stay  here,’  he  said  gloomily. 

‘ Denis  must  come  to  Paris  ; that ’s  the  conclusion  of  the 
whole  matter.’ 

And  Denis  said  that  he  would  be  delighted.  But  he  felt 
sick  at  heart,  and  when  he  walked  home  had  no  eyes  for  the 
last  yellow  gleams  of  the  day  that  died  exquisitely  in  the 
west.  He  had  known,  of  course,  that  the  Duroys  intended 
to  go  to  Paris,  but  he  had  never  thought  that  the  intention 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


169 

was  to  be  accomplished  so  soon.  Of  course,  the  idea  of 
going  to  stay  in  France  was  wonderful,  but  it  was  also,  alas  ! 
impossible.  He  had  no  money  of  his  own,  and  it  was  absurd 
to  imagine  that  his  father  would  bear  the  expense  of  such  a 
journey.  No  ; the  future  lay  cold  and  blank  before  him — 
an  illimitable  wilderness  of  barren  days.  Perhaps,  when  he 
was  grown  up  and  had  left  school,  he  might  be  able  to  see 
his  friends  again  ; but  then,  of  course,  Rosalind  would  be 
grown  up  too,  and  girls  always  changed  completely  in  the 
course  of  that  process. 

As  he  crossed  the  valley  road  he  heard  the  sound  of 
approaching  wheels,  and  presently  a carriage  came  up  to 
where  he  stood.  There  was  still  enough  light  for  him  to  be 
able  to  recognise  his  father,  who  was  returning  from  a visit 
to  some  remote  farm.  Dr.  Yorke  saw  Denis,  and  pulled  up 
the  horse. 

‘ You  can  drive  back  if  you  like/  he  said. 

Denis  did  not  answer  for  a moment.  This  was  the  first 
gleam  of  graciousness  that  had  broken  across  their  estrange- 
ment ; he  felt  that  he  ought  to  respond  eagerly,  and  yet  . . . 
Whilst  he  hesitated  Dr.  Yorke  spoke  again. 

‘ Where  have  you  been  ? ’ he  asked. 

‘ To  Parnasse — to  the  Duroys/  the  boy  answered.  To  his 
astonishment  Dr.  Yorke  said,  ‘ Oh,  indeed  ! ’ in  a voice  that 
was  meant  to  be  full  of  ironical  interest.  Then  he  hit  the  mare 
sharply  with  the  whip,  and  bowled  away  into  the  dusk. 

Denis  stared  after  his  vanished  shape  with  mild  amaze- 
ment. His  father  had  given  him  free  permission  to  live  his 
own  life  in  his  own  way,  and  yet,  on  the  very  first  occasion 
when  Denis  made  use  of  his  liberty,  this  extraordinary  parent 
drove  off  with  his  nose  in  the  air  and  all  the  other  symptoms  of 
being  extremely  offended.  It  really  was  rather  ridiculous  ; you 
couldn’t  possibly  respect  any  one  who  behaved  in  that  way. 

He  walked  slowly  home,  and  in  those  few  minutes,  though 
he  did  not  know  it,  he  took  a place  amongst  the  more  ad- 
vanced exponents  of  youthful  idiocy.  The  angry  bitterness 
that  had  haunted  him  became  latent.  He  began  to  think 
condescendingly  of  his  father. 


170 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


XXI 

SO,  fostered  by  misunderstanding,  and  prejudice,  and  a 
certain  shyness,  the  estrangement  between  them  be- 
came lasting,  and  many  suns  went  down  on  that  foolish 
feud  between  a lonely  man  and  his  motherless  boy.  Each 
felt  that  the  faith  between  them  was  broken  ; they  were  each 
incapable  of  trusting  the  other's  motives  ; if  Denis  thought 
that  he  detected  signs  of  relenting  in  his  father,  he  guarded 
himself  from  responding  to  them  in  the  fear  that  they  were 
not  really  significant,  and  that  therefore  any  response  on  his 
part  would  meet  with  a humiliating  rebuff ; if  Dr.  Yorke 
began  to  yearn  for  his  son's  love,  he  concealed  the  yearning 
beneath  an  exaggerated  air  of  indifference  ; his  dignity  would 
not  permit  him  to  make  overtures  of  affection  that  the  boy 
might  disdain.  It  was  a sorry  situation  ; Gabriel  Searle, 
who  had  contemplated  it  at  first  with  a smile  of  slightly 
satirical  detachment,  began  to  be  deeply  anxious,  though 
primarily,  it  must  be  admitted,  on  Denis’s  account.  If  there 
was  one  attribute  of  the  human  temperament  that  Gabriel 
detested,  it  was  hardness,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  Denis 
was  in  a fair  way  to  develop  it.  But  he  was  sorry,  too,  for 
Dr.  Yorke  ; the  man  was  a fool,  of  course,  but  a lovable  fool ; 
he  had  made  a few  false  steps  which  might  have  been  so 
easily  retraced,  and  now  he  was  plunging  blindly  forward 
into  impenetrable  thickets  of  unhappiness.  Denis  was  at 
the  magnetic  age  ; every  day  of  this  estrangement  would  leave 
an  indelible  impression  on  his  soul ; he  would  remember 
every  detail  with  the  cruel,  unabsolving  memory  of  youth, 
and  in  a few  years  he  would  regard  his  father  as  the  wrecker 
of  his  childish  happiness. 

The  good  Gabriel  flung  detachment  to  the  dogs,  and  at- 
tempted to  interfere  ; perhaps  he  was  a moment  too  late. 
He  attacked  Dr.  Yorke,  who  immediately  threatened  him 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


171 

with  the  loss  of  their  friendship  if  he  made  any  farther  allusion 
to  the  subject ; he  invited  Denis  to  tea,  and  had  the  dismal 
interest  of  observing  the  boy's  face  change  to  a tragic  mask 
at  the  mere  mention  of  his  father's  name.  Gabriel’s  exhorta- 
tions goaded  him  at  last  to  sullen  speech. 

‘ He  said  that  he  wished  I had  never  been  born,'  he 
muttered,  staring  at  the  fire.  ‘ He  thinks  I do  filthy  things 
at  school.'  And  when  Gabriel  poured  scorn  on  this  idea, 
the  boy  retorted : ‘ If  he  doesn't  believe  that  I 'm  like  that, 
it 's  worse  still.  He  oughtn't  to  have  dared  to  talk  to  me 
about  those  things.'  There  was  a certain  wisdom  underlying 
this  latter  protest  that  did  not  escape  Gabriel's  notice.  Dr. 
Yorke  had  certainly  been  worse  than  indiscreet.  The  inter- 
view brought  no  consolation  to  Gabriel,  beyond  confirming 
his  impression  that  Denis  was  an  essentially  clean-hearted 
boy  who  could  be  as  obstinate  as  adamant  if  he  were  treated 
unjustly. 

‘ He  hates  everything  and  everybody  that  I like,'  the  boy 
had  cried  passionately,  4 except  you,  of  course.  He  hates 
the  Duroys,  just  because  they  're  Roman  Catholics,  and 
they  're  so  kind  and  jolly  that  they  make  every  one  else  seem 
dull.  Oh,  we  're  different,  that 's  what  it  is  ! He  can't  bear 
people  who  are  different  from  him  ; mother  was  different ; I 
suppose  I 'm  like  her.  I can  just  remember  how  he  used  to 
rave  at  her.  I 'd  forgotten,  but  it  came  back  to  me  suddenly 
one  time  when  he  was  cursing  at  me.' 

Gabriel  could  only  feel  acutely  distressed.  He  had  known 
Dr.  Yorke  before  his  wife's  death.  He  thought  of  the  dreamy, 
gentle  creature  who  had  died  five  years  after  her  marriage. 
She  had  loved  music  passionately,  and  was  a fervent  reader. 
A great  friendship  had  arisen  between  her  and  Gabriel  Searle  ; 
she  was  the  one  woman  he  had  known  intimately  ; she  was 
the  one  woman — he  could  say  it  to  himself  now  without 
shame — whom  he  had  loved.  He  had  knelt  by  her  bed  when 
she  died,  but  her  eyes  had  been  fixed  on  her  husband.  . . . 
He  rose  swiftly  from  his  chair  and  crossed  the  room  to  where 
Denis  was  sitting. 

‘ Do  you  think  she  would  be  happy  if  she  knew  that 


172  THE  FIRST  ROUND 

you  and  your  father  weren’t  friends  ? ’ he  asked,  rather 
brusquely. 

Denis  was  silent  for  a moment. 

‘ I don’t  know,’  he  said ; * but  she  would  understand.  She 
would  know  that  it  was  right.’ 

Gabriel  felt  that  this  was  an  attitude  which  it  was  hopeless 
to  combat.  The  boy  had  managed  to  put  aside  his  instincts, 
and  to  think  out  the  affair  with  all  the  hard  logic  of  justice. 
The  father  would  be  more  easily  vanquished  than  the  son. 

The  Easter  holidays  came  to  an  end,  and  no  bridge  had  been 
thrown  across  the  estranging  gulf  that  divided  them.  Denis 
travelled  to  school  with  Noel,  and  found  himself  anticipating 
the  term  with  actual  pleasure.  It  was  horrid,  of  course,  to 
be  obliged  to  leave  the  joys  of  Parnasse,  but  Mr.  Duroy  and 
Rosalind  had  sworn  a solemn  oath  to  visit  the  school  about 
the  middle  of  term.  As  for  the  Red  House,  it  was  a distinct 
relief  to  escape  from  that  overcharged  atmosphere,  and  to 
enter  an  environment  where  one  wasn’t  perpetually  regarded 
as  a malignant  fallen  angel. 

The  inevitable  petty  changes  had  taken  place.  He  found 
himself  promoted  to  a higher  form,  which  consisted  for  the 
most  part  of  very  decent  fellows.  The  hoary-headed  tor- 
mentors, who  abode  delicately  for  years  in  the  lower  part 
of  the  school  and  industriously  kicked  all  feeble  and  timid 
boys  who  dared  to  answer  questions  which  they  themselves 
knew — or  even  those  which  they  did  not — were  left  behind  ; 
his  class-mates  were  his  contemporaries,  and  the  master  was 
a quiet,  kindly,  humorous  person  who  was  really  fond  of  his 
boys  and  had  a passion  for  English  literature.  The  great 
Lenwood  had  also  been  promoted,  and  found  himself,  without 
surprise,  in  the  Sixth  form  at  the  beginning  of  his  third  term. 
The  headmaster,  however,  refused  to  make  him  a prefect 
until  he  had  completed  a year  of  school  life,  a deprivation 
which  Lenwood  bore  with  fortitude. 

‘ I ’ve  not  the  least  desire  to  be  a prefect,’  he  explained  to 
Denis.  ‘ Of  course  I ’m  glad  to  be  in  the  Sixth  because  one 
gets  away  from  grammars  and  handbooks  and  really  reads 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


173 


some  decent  literature,  but  I ’ve  no  desire  to  be  everlastingly 
rushing  about  in  order  to  discover  if  Smith  minor  puts  on  his 
greatcoat  when  he  watches  a match.  Still  less  do  I wish  to 
beat  Smith  minor’s  behind  because  he  eats  Turkish  delight 
in  his  bed  or  reads  Marie  Corelli  with  a lantern  after  lights  are 
turned  out.  There  are  plenty  of  hulking  monsters  in  the 
house  who  revel  in  that  kind  of  thing.  And  if  I were  a prefect, 
I should  have  to  sit  in  dormitory  between  ten  and  eleven 
listening  to  Arbuthnot’s  everlasting  athletic  shop.  It ’s  a 
painful  honour.’ 

Denis  felt  that  Lenwood  was  very  old  and  very  wise,  but 
he  had  a vague  idea  that  there  was  a flaw  in  the  magnificent 
creature’s  attitude.  After  the  first  fortnight,  and  when  he 
had  settled  down  into  the  routine,  he  began  to  realise  for 
the  first  time  that  it  was  possible  to  be  oneself,  to  keep  one’s 
own  private  aspirations  and  joys,  without  maintaining  a 
position  of  haughty  abstraction  from  the  rest  of  the  world. 
Lenwood,  of  course,  had  his  private  compensations  and  knew 
their  value,  but  he  did  miss  things, — ease,  for  example  ; in 
spite  of  his  meditative  air,  he  was  always  on  edge  ; his 
profession  of  calmness  was  only  part  of  his  attitude.  He  had 
no  share  in  the  ordinary  free-and-easy  intercourse  of  school 
life,  which  Denis,  without  at  first  realising  the  fact,  was 
beginning  to  find  delightful ; any  boy  who  addressed  a 
commonplace  and  cheerful  remark  to  him  was  sure  to  receive 
an  oracular  or  sarcastic  response.  It  seemed  as  if  he  could 
not  descend  from  his  lonely  pedestal.  He  was  delighted 
with  his  pedestal,  of  course,  but  Denis  wondered  secretly 
whether  the  day  would  come  when  he  would  be  tired  of 
it.  Meanwhile,  he  earned  the  dislike  of  the  multitude. 
Arbuthnot,  the  immense,  the  terrible,  arrayed  in  all  the 
colours  of  athletic  glory,  met  him  on  the  terrace  just  before 
the  beginning  of  a foreign  match,  and  took  off  his  gold  and 
crimson  cap  to  him  in  the  presence  of  the  whole  School ; and 
Lawrence,  who  was  captain  of  cricket,  profanely  alluded  to 
him  as  the  Lord  God,  and  tried  to  make  him  play  for  the 
House  Third  Eleven.  Lenwood  condescended  to  appear  on 
the  cricket-ground,  though  not  on  that  particular  occasion. 


174 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


He  hit  with  great  fury,  made  eighty  not  out  against  execrable 
bowling,  refused  to  field,  and  deleted  his  name  from  the  list 
when  he  was  included  in  the  House  Eleven  on  the  following 
Saturday.  Lawrence  swore  violently  at  him  in  public,  and 
Lenwood  produced  a volume  of  school  rules — a work  which 
no  one  in  the  house  had  ever  seen — in  which  it  was  daily 
recorded  that  no  Sixth  form  boy  was  compelled  to  play  games. 
Lawrence  flung  the  book  through  a window,  and  retired  in  a 
white  heat  of  rage  to  his  study,  where  he  tried  to  quarrel  with 
M‘Curdy.  The  House  shuddered,  for  terrible  is  the  anger  of 
the  gods. 

It  was  not  the  mere  relief  of  escape  from  the  heavily  laden 
atmosphere  of  the  Red  House  that  made  school  seem  to 
Denis  a pleasanter  place  than  he  had  imagined  to  be  possible. 
With  the  coming  of  summer  the  familiar  ugliness,  of  yellow 
brick  and  much-trampled  turf  was  magically  changed;  the 
chestnuts  in  the  avenue  were  thick  with  pink  and  white 
flowers,  and  the  desert  that  was  called  the  Masters’  Garden 
began  to  blossom  like  a rose.  When  the  warm  weather 
began,  one  felt  a kind  of  holiday  spirit  even  on  a whole 
schoolday,  and  even  early  rising  became  a pleasure.  As 
one  sat  in  form  sweet  odours  from  sun-scorched  hedgerows 
drifted  in  through  the  open  windows  ; it  was  conceded  to 
heated  youth  to  wear  flannels  all  day  long ; the  swimming- 
bath  was  delightful,  and  lock-up  was  so  late  that  one  no  longer 
wandered  round  the  quadrangle  at  night  with  a sickening 
sense  of  imprisonment  in  one’s  heart.  Geraniums,  lobelias, 
and  calceolarias  flamed  with  triumphant,  if  slightly  mono- 
tonous splendour  in  all  the  study  windows  ; scientific  persons 
with  green  butterfly-nets  were  to  be  observed  in  all  the 
Heath  lanes,  and  the  beginning  of  the  annual  plague  of 
caterpillars  was  reported  from  Lister’s  dormitory  about  the 
third  week  of  term. 

Denis  learnt  the  rudiments  of  cricket,  worked  fairly  steadily, 
became  a good  swimmer,  and  generally  enjoyed  life  in  a tran- 
quil way.  The  thought  of  the  strained  relations  that  existed 
at  home  ceased  to  trouble  him ; the  long  vista  of  the  term 
lay  between  him  and  their  renewal,  and  there  was  Rosalind’s 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


US 


visit  to  be  anticipated.  Mr.  Lister  (who  no  longer  received 
letters  from  Dr.  Yorke  and  was  therefore  truly  thankful) 
observed  that  he  had  developed  into  ‘ one  of  the  less  offensive 
persons  in  my  house/  as  he  pessimistically  phrased  it,  and 
invited  him  to  tea.  The  music-master  was  almost  enthusi- 
astic about  him,  and  began  to  teach  him  to  play  the  organ. 

The  episode  of  the  golf-links,  with  the  wild  legends  to 
which  it  had  given  rise,  was  long  since  forgotten  by  the 
School,  and  Denis  began  to  feel  again  the  curious  tranquillity 
that  is  fostered  in  human  nature  by  belonging  to  a corporate 
body,  by  being  a wheel  in  a watch.  Every  one  was  really 
rather  decent  to  him,  he  thought,  and  felt  a mild  wonder 
as  to  whether  the  decency  didn't  arise  from  the  fact  that  he 
was  growing  exactly  like  every  one  else, — had  the  same 
attitude  to  life.  It  almost  seemed  that  if  one  went  on  doing 
exactly  the  same  things  as  five  hundred  other  people,  one 
ended  by  thinking  the  same  things  also. 

But  in  one  respect  he  was  different.  All  the  others  had 
letters  from  home  ; he  had  none.  He  had  written,  as  usual, 
to  his  father  during  the  first  weeks  of  term  ; a month  passed, 
and  he  received  no  reply.  Long  letters  came  to  him  from 
Rosalind,  and  postcards,  covered  with  minutely  beautiful 
words,  from  Gabriel  Searle,  but  though  he  wrote  on  four 
or  five  consecutive  Sundays  to  Dr.  Yorke,  no  answer  came. 
And  then  he  ceased  to  write. 

This  rebuff  went  some  way  towards  re-arousing  his  resent- 
ment, and  an  event  that  happened  very  soon  after  he  had 
decided  to  write  no  more  to  his  father  tended  to  increase  his 
feeling  of  bitterness.  He  came  back  to  the  form-room  one 
morning  to  find  half  a dozen  boys  all  striving  to  get  a good 
view  from  the  window  of  something  that  was  happening 
in  the  quadrangle.  When  he  inquired  the  meaning  of  their 
eagerness  one  of  them  turned  to  him  and  said  : 

‘ It ’s  that  dirty  beast  Challoner/ 

Denis  disliked  Bob  Challoner,  as  we  know,  for  excellent 
reasons,  and  on  one  occasion,  when  they  were  in  the  gymna- 
sium together,  had  asked  him  why  he  was  an  abandoned  liar. 
Challoner’s  instant  vengeance  had  been  interrupted  by  the 


176 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


instructor,  but  Denis  knew  that  he  was  only  waiting  for  an 
opportunity  to  resume  reprisals.  So  that  he  looked  out  of 
the  window  with  some  interest,  and  saw  that  Challoner  was 
walking  with  the  school  porter  towards  the  headmaster's 
house. 

‘ He 's  been  fairly  booked  this  time/  said  one  of  the 
spectators.  Denis  asked  what  Challoner  had  done,  and  was 
answered  without  any  circumlocution.  ‘ He  'll  be  sacked, 
for  a cert.,'  was  the  general  comment.  4 Serve  him  jolly  well 
right,  the  filthy  hog.' 

The  prophecy  was  fulfilled.  Shortly  after  his  interview 
with  the  headmaster,  Bob  Challoner  became  a gentleman  at 
large  by  the  simple  process  of  issuing  from  school  by  a side 
door  and  driving  away  in  a four-wheeler.  It  was  reported  that 
he  smiled  and  lit  a very  large  cigar  at  the  moment  of  his 
departure.  If  there  were  any  who  admired  his  bravado  and 
regretted  his  fate,  Denis  was  not  amongst  them  ; it  seemed 
to  him  that  the  whirligig  of  time  had  indeed  brought  in  its 
revenges,  and  that  his  father  would  have  an  awkward  thrill 
of  enlightenment  when  he  heard  the  truth.  Perhaps  he  would 
write  now,  and  apologise  for  believing  Challoner's  lies. 

But  Dr.  Yorke  did  not  write,  and  therefore  the  heart  of 
Denis  was  hardened,  and  he  said  bitter  words  to  Gabriel 
Searle,  who  came  over  to  see  him  about  the  middle  of  term. 
Gabriel  certainly  did  not  admire  Challoner,  but  he  found 
himself  on  the  edge  of  wishing  that  the  wretched  fellow  had 
contrived  to  remain  in  the  school ; his  expulsion  had  given 
Dr.  Yorke  a great  chance  of  reconciliation  with  Denis,  as 
Denis  knew  very  well,  and  Dr.  Yorke  had  refused  to  take  it. 
The  way,  thought  Gabriel,  in  which  every  event  seemed 
destined  to  widen  the  gulf  between  them  verged  on  the 
uncanny. 

He  found  that  Denis  was  both  taller  and  stronger  ; the 
boy  seemed  happy  ; he  was  immensely  keen  about  his  music, 
and  contrived  also  to  be  interested  in  school  life.  He  intro- 
duced various  boys  to  Gabriel,  and  Gabriel  found  them 
charming,  and  gave  a tea-party  at  the  little  hotel  on  the 
Heath.  Public  schools,  Winchester  excepted,  might  possess 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


1 77 


defects,  he  thought,  but  was  there  anything  more  delightful 
than  the  natural  ease  of  manner  that  they  contrived  to 
inculcate  into  boys  ? This,  it  seemed  to  him,  was  the  one 
quality  that  atoned  for  the  haughty  indifference  displayed 
by  the  system  with  regard  to  all  the  intellectual  virtues. 
But  it  was  a fleeting  possession,  he  reflected  rather  sadly  ; 
the  system  owed  it  to  the  senior  masters,  who  had  been  at  the 
Universities  in  the  days  when  undergraduates  were  really 
men  of  the  world  as  well  as  men  of  culture ; the  modern 
athletic  ruffian  at  Oxford  was  only  a schoolboy  who  had  for- 
gotten to  grow  up ; a delightful  fellow,  of  course,  but  not  the 
type  that  would  teach  boys  the  value  of  the  amenities  of  life. 
That  type  seemed  to  Gabriel  to  be  inseparably  connected 
with  certain  faded  photographs  of  undergraduates  who  wore 
whiskers  and  curiously  shaped  bowler-hats.  It  could  quote 
Virgil  and  Horace  correctly,  and  could  drive  a four-in-hand  ; 
it  talked  slang,  worked  hard,  drank  beer  from  silver  tankards, 
read  Poems  and  Ballads , and  fell  in  love.  It  had  an  intense 
interest  in  modern  movements  of  every  kind,  and  was  ex- 
tremely deferential  to  its  inferiors,  whom  it  instantly  recog- 
nised. But  it  was  already  trodden  down  by  the  hungry 
generations  of  mental  or  muscular  specialists  ; all  too  soon, 
each  public  school  would  be  ruled  by  sinister  gangs  of  over- 
fed athletes  and  underbred  pedants.  Gabriel,  however,  dis- 
covered that  certain  of  the  masters  in  this  particular  school 
had  been  his  contemporaries  at  Oxford ; so  for  it,  at  any  rate, 
there  was  still  hope.  Mr.  Lister,  too,  whilst  failing  to  conform 
with  his  ideal,  pleased  him  immensely. 

Noel  came  to  tea  at  the  Heath  hotel,  and  enthralled  the 
company  with  an  imaginary  conversation  between  Lenwood 
(who  was  present)  and  Mr.  Lister  and  the  house-matron  (who 
were  not)  on  the  subject  of  Len wood's  trousers,  which  neces- 
sary species  of  raiment  had  all  mysteriously  vanished  on  the 
morning  when  he  was  appointed  to  read  the  lessons  in  chapel. 
It  was  really  an  excellent  improvisation  ; Mr.  Lister’s  excited 
barks,  the  matron’s  sighs  and  misplaced  aspirates,  and  Len- 
wood’s  weary  indifference  to  the  whole  affair,  were  rendered 
with  startling  verisimilitude.  ‘ I sez  to  him,  sir,  “ Lenwood,” 

M 


i;8 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


I sez,  “ it 's  my  duty  to  look  after  unders,  and  my  duty  I 'll 
do,  but  uppers,  no,"  and  it 's  only  the  thought  of  him  standing 
on  the  lectern  with  his  legs  as  thin  as  a crane  as  'as  made  me 
trouble  you,  sir,  and  I 've  brought  'im  with  me  in  'is  dressin'- 
gownd.’  ‘ All  very  fine,  my  good  woman,  but  I 'm  about 
to  immerse  myself  in  a bath.  Instruct  him  to  borrow  a pair 
from  one  of  his  coevals.'  'Coeval,  may  I explain,  Mrs. 
Williams,  is  a word  which  may  be  rendered — one  of  the  more 
mature  members  of  the  house.'  ‘ You  'old  your  noise, 
Lenwood.  That 's  the  very  thing  I done,  sir,  and  never  one 
of  the  young  villings  will  lend  him  any,  except  Walker  four, 
whose  'ead  just  comes  up  to  the  band  of  my  aprin,  and  he 
grinned  when  he  offered  to,  the  curly-'aired  little  imp.'  ‘ I 
really  don't  wish  to  trouble  Mr.  Lister,  Mrs.  Williams ; I shall 
return  to  my  bed  until  the  thief  is  overcome  with  the  pangs 
of  a guilty  conscience.'  ‘ And  knowing  boys  as  I do,  I can 
tell  you  that  you  'll  spend  the  rest  of  your  natural  life  in  it.' 
‘ I fear  that  you  are  a cynic,  Mrs.  Williams.'  ‘ And  you  're 
an  impident  new  boy,  and  you  may  go  to  chapel  in  your 
pink  flannel  pyjamas  for  aught  I care,'  etc.  etc.  Lenwood 
took  it  very  well,  but  Denis  found  himself  wishing  that  his 
smile  was  not  quite  so  superior.  He  wanted  Gabriel  Searle 
to  like  him.  Gabriel,  at  all  events,  liked  Noel  immensely, 
and  was  very  much  pleased  with  the  other  guests — two 
pleasant,  unaffected  brothers  from  Denis's  form-room.  The 
latter  people,  however,  were  obliged  to  depart  very  soon  after 
tea,  and  then  Gabriel  began  to  talk  about  books,  and  induced 
Lenwood  to  say  some  tremendously  clever  things.  Noel, 
who,  oddly  enough,  seemed  to  have  read  all  the  books  that 
Lenwood  mentioned,  contradicted  him  flatly,  and  argued 
with  what  seemed  to  Denis  amazing  skill.  It  was  interesting, 
he  thought,  to  listen  to  people  who  were  so  absolutely  different 
from  each  other,  and  Mr.  Searle  obviously  agreed  with  him. 
Altogether,  concluded  Denis,  as  they  left  Lenwood  and  Noel 
at  the  avenue  gates,  the  tea  was  a vast  success.  But  when 
Gabriel  attempted  once  more  to  reason  with  him  about  the 
feud,  his  face  grew  old  and  firm,  and  he  listened  in  frosty 
silence. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND  179 

4 Haven't  you  any  message  for  him  ? ' Gabriel  asked,  as  he 
sat  in  the  carriage  which  was  to  take  him  to  the  station. 
And  Denis  replied  with  an  emphatic  and  deliberate  negative, 
for  he  was  growing  weary  of  Gabriel's  well-meant  efforts 
towards  peace-making.  Yet  he  was  very  glad  that  Gabriel 
had  come  to  the  school,  whatever  his  reason  for  the  visit 
was  ; Noel  and  Lenwood  both  liked  him,  and  the  two  brothers 
from  his  form-room  regarded  him  as  a pearl  among  parsons. 
As  for  Gabriel,  he  felt  an  odd  sort  of  annoyance  that  Denis 
was  at  length  contented  with  school  life  and  had  such  charm- 
ing friends.  His  happiness  really  made  the  situation  much 
more  difficult ! 


i8o 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


XXII 

MR.  DUROY  refused  to  bring  Rosalind  to  the  school 
for  Speech  Day,  his  nerves,  as  he  alleged,  being 
too  sensitive  to  endure  the  roaring  of  the  various  ecclesiastical 
and  political  lions  who  ravened  at  that  function.  The  long- 
expected  visit  did  not  happen  until  the  end  of  J uly , when  the 
term  was  thirteen  weeks  old,  and  the  dog-star  blazed,  and  the 
ice  in  the  school  shop  melted  all  too  soon,  and  the  grasshopper 
was  a burden.  Like  Searle,  Rosalind  and  her  father  only 
came  over  for  the  day — a Saturday  ; but  they  managed  to 
arrive  exactly  when  Denis  and  Noel  (and  five  hundred  other 
persons  of  less  importance)  came  out  of  third  lesson  at  half- 
past twelve. 

Denis  had  been  in  a blissful  condition  of  excitement  for 
a whole  fortnight  before  their  arrival.  Noel,  on  the  other 
hand,  was  for  once  depressed  and  even  irritable  during  that 
period,  and  was  actually  observed  to  go  for  a lonely  walk 
one  Sunday  morning — a unique  event  in  his  gregarious  life. 
Denis  went  to  tea  in  the  study  that  afternoon  with  Lawrence's 
young  brother,  and  found  only  Lawrence  and  M'Curdy  there. 

* Boosey's  gone  off  somewhere  with  Arbuthnot,'  explained 
Lawrence  ; ‘ I saw  them  on  the  terrace  looking  as  sick  as 
dogs.  Suppose  they  're  both  cursing  because  they  're  going 
to  leave.  Funny,  the  way  it  takes  people  ; I don't  seem  to 
care  much.' 

‘ But  ye  weel,'  said  M'Curdy,  ‘ when  ye  go  up  to  Auxford, 
and  all  the  little  second-year  men  who  were  worrms  at  school 
come  and  pat  you  on  the  head  and  ask  if  ye 've  ever  played 
cricket  and  footer ; my  word ! ye  'll  wish  yerself  back  in  yer 
gloory.  As  a matter  of  fact,  it  isn't  that  which  makes  Boosey 
sick.  Don't  you  recollect  that  his  mither  would  always 
be  coming  here  on  the  last  Satirday  of  summer  terrm  ? 
Arbuthnot  was  a greeat  friend  of  hers.' 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


1 8 1 


4 Was  she  awfully  decent  ? ’ asked  Denis. 

* She  was  that/  said  M'Curdy  • ‘ her  hair  was  as  black  as 
the  binding  of  a new  bat,  and  when  she  talked  to  any  one, 
even  me,  he  became  fairrly  breeliant.  She  and  Boosey  were 
mighty  thick,  and  she  looked  about  a couple  of  years  older, 
no  more/  At  this  moment  young  Lawrence  upset  his  tea 
over  some  new  books,  and  was  pummelled  by  his  brother, 
and  afterwards  the  conversation  drifted  in  directions  less 
interesting  to  Denis. 

When  Mr.  Duroy  and  Rosalind  arrived,  however,  Noel 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  his  depression.  He  observed  none 
of  the  usual  decorum  of  the  schoolboy  who  feels  that  a 
multitude  of  critical  eyes  are  fixed  on  ‘ my  people/  but  talked 
and  laughed  immoderately,  and  burst  into  lyric  raptures 
over  the  yellow  brick  of  the  Sanatorium  and  the  pink  pain- 
fulness of  the  Tompkins’  Memorial  Hall.  He  walked  in  front 
with  Mr.  Duroy,  who  beamed  like  a fine  June  morning,  whilst 
Denis  followed  with  Rosalind. 

For  the  first  time  since  he  had  known  her  Denis  felt  shy 
in  her  presence.  She  had  grown  very  much  in  the  last  three 
months,  and  seemed  to  have  acquired  a new  dignity  with  the 
added  inches.  When  they  met  at  the  lodge  she  had  shaken 
hands  with  him — a new  method  of  salutation,  though 
perhaps  the  best  in  those  particular  circumstances.  It  was 
plain  that  she  was  intensely  interested  in  the  novel  environ- 
ment of  a public  school ; she  asked  many  questions,  and 
looked  carefully  at  all  the  boys  whom  they  met  as  they 
crossed  the  quadrangle.  The  smaller  ones  seemed  to  interest 
her  more  than  the  gorgeous  heroes  of  the  Eleven  and  the 
Fifteen. 

They  lunched  at  the  Heath  hotel,  where  Denis  brought 
Lenwood,  and  Noel  ‘ his  little  friend  Arbuthnot/  Denis 
had  some  difficulty  in  persuading  Lenwood  to  honour  them 
with  his  illustrious  presence.  The  philosopher,  indeed,  showed 
signs  of  actual  terror  when  he  was  invited. 

‘ I ’d  better  not  come/  he  said  with  unwonted  humility  ; 

* I shall  only  be  a spectre  at  the  feast.  I ’m  no  good  at 
talking  the  kind  of  rot  that  women  like.  I know  there ’s 


1 82  THE  FIRST  ROUND 

going  to  be  a woman.  I saw  her  walking  across  the  quad 
with  you.' 

' But  she  isn’t  a woman  ! ’ Denis  explained  : ‘ she ’s  a 
girl ; she ’s  younger  than  I am,  and  she ’s  fearfully  decent. 
I Ve  often  talked  to  her  about  you  ; she  ’ll  be  awfully  sick 
if  you  don’t  come.’ 

‘ She  ’ll  be  awfully  sick  if  I do,’  said  Lenwood  gloomily. 

But  eventually  he  yielded.  He  was  very  rigid  and  un- 
comfortable for  the  first  ten  minutes,  and  used  inordinately 
long  words  ; but  he  thawed  very  soon  after  Rosalind  began 
to  talk  to  him,  and  listened  to  Mr.  Duroy  with  a rapidly 
kindling  appreciation.  Rosalind,  thought  Denis,  was  more 
wonderful  than  ever  ; she  seemed  to  hit  exactly  on  the  kind 
of  question  that  made  Lenwood  give  interesting  answers, 
and  as  for  Arbuthnot, — that  hero  of  heroes  was  conquered 
as  completely  as  Hercules  in  the  Court  of  Iole.  When  he 
addressed  her  as  Miss  Duroy,  she  instantly  demanded  to 
know  his  Christian  name — one  had  somehow  never  thought 
of  Arbuthnot  having  a Christian  name  ! — and  when  she 
heard  that  it  was  Ronald  she  absolutely  refused  to  call  him 
by  any  more  formal  appellation.  To  watch  Arbuthnot 
speaking  slow  and  painfully  grammatical  French  to  her  was 
a spectacle  worthy  of  the  gods.  ‘ Oui,  mademoiselle,  je  suis 
le  capitaine  de  l’ecole  ; c’est  parceque  je  suis  tres  vieux, 
j’ai  demeure  ici  depuis  six  ans.  Mais  un  gargon  nomme 
Lawrence  est  actuellement  capitaine  de  cricket.  Je  vais 
a Oxford,  l’universite,  vous  savez,  et  j’espere  bien  que  vous 
viendrez  me  voir,  avec  votre  pere.  If  you  don’t  I shall  be 
simply  furious.  Noel,  make  them  promise  to  come  up  when 
you  come.’  Arbuthnot,  in  short,  was  an  easy  victim.  There 
was  a foreign  match  that  afternoon  ; he  lingered  until  the 
last  possible  moment,  and  departed  with  the  most  apparent 
reluctance.  They  were  amused  by  his  method  of  return  to 
the  school ; he  stood  in  the  road  outside  the  hotel,  com- 
mandeered a bicycle  from  one  of  the  many  boys  who  were 
toiling  up  the  hill,  and  rode  madly  down  to  the  gates,  leaving 
the  owner,  who  looked  quite  unruffled  by  this  sudden  act 
of  piracy,  to  follow  him  on  foot.  Afterwards,  when  they 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


183 

watched  the  cricket,  he  saw  them  from  the  pavilion,  and  came 
to  talk  to  them  until  it  was  time  for  him  to  bat.  Rosalind 
saw  him  coming  and  went  to  meet  him,  a spontaneous 
movement  which  scandalised  the  whole  School  and  delighted 
Arbuthnot.  They  had  tea  in  Noel's  study,  and  no  strangers, 
however  distinguished,  were  invited.  Lawrence  was  absent 
because  of  the  cricket  match,  and  M'Curdy  had  gone  to  play 
golf  with  a master  on  the  scene  of  Denis’s  ancient  adventure. 
At  tea  Noel  asked  Rosalind  for  her  opinion  of  their  guests. 

‘ I liked  Ronald,’  she  said,  * he ’s  so  big  and  calm  and 
comfortable.  He ’s  got  eyes  like  a nice  dog.  And  he ’s  so 
friendly.  I expect  he ’s  friends  with  every  one  in  the  school, 
isn’t  he  ? Did  you  see  how  glad  that  boy  was  to  lend  him  his 
bicycle  ? ’ 

Noel  laughed. 

‘ My  dear,’  he  explained,  ‘ it  wouldn’t  have  made  any 
difference  if  he  hadn’t  been  glad.  And  as  to  being  friends 
with  every  one  in  the  school,  I don’t  suppose  there  are  more 
than  thirty  or  forty  men  who ’d  dare  to  speak  to  Arbuthnot 
unless  he  spoke  to  them  first.  He ’s  what  we  call  a god  : in 
fact  he ’s  the  chief  god.  They ’ve  got  the  head  of  the  school 
in  Lister’s — that ’s  the  house  Arbuthnot  and  Denis  belong 
to — but  he  hardly  dare  open  his  mouth  in  the  house  without 
Arbuthnot’s  kind  permission.  If  he  does,  Arbuthnot  spanks 
him  with  a fives  bat,  and  that ’s  worse  for  his  dignity  than 
keeping  quiet.’ 

Rosalind  meditated  silently  for  some  moments  ; she  was 
evidently  somewhat  astonished  by  this  aspect  of  her  new 
friend.  When  Noel  asked  her  what  she  thought  of  Lenwood 
she  replied  gravely,  but  without  any  hesitation  : 

‘ I don’t  think  he ’s  happy.’ 

‘ He ’s  jolly  pleased  with  himself,’  said  Noel. 

She  was  silent  again  ; the  little  line  showed  above  her  brows. 
‘ That ’s  not  being  happy,’  she  said.  Long  afterwards 
Denis  remembered  the  brief  dialogue.  Then  they  talked  of 
more  intimate  affairs.  The  Duroys  were  leaving  Parnasse 
in  three  or  four  days  ; the  grand  piano  had  already  departed, 
with  the  greater  part  of  the  furniture,  and  Narcisse  spent 


184 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


the  day  in  wandering  restlessly  about  the  house,  full  of  vague 
foreboding,  and  little  dreaming  that  he  was  destined  to 
return  to  the  land  of  his  birth.  They  had  found  a house — 
a real  house,  not  a flat — near  the  Jardin  des  Plantes,  with  a 
large  studio,  and  a little  garden,  and  a kitchen  for  Marie,  but 
they  did  not  intend  to  settle  in  it  until  the  end  of  September. 
‘ We  've  sat  still  for  so  long  that  the  moss  has  grown  all  over 
us/  said  Mr.  Duroy,  * and  now  we  're  off  on  our  travels. 
France  first  of  all,  and  then  anywhere  we  like, — probably 
Switzerland,  and  Como  and  Maggiore,  and  Bergamo,  and 
Verona,  and  China  and  Peru.  Oh ! we  mean  to  enjoy 
ourselves ! We 've  given  ourselves,  as  we  intended,  two 
years  of  real  English  life  in  real  English  country,  and  now 
we  're  going  to  enlarge  our  narrow  minds  amid  the  marvels  of 
Italian  art,  and  expand  our  narrow  bodies  on  the  loftier  Alps. 
Noel  is  coming  with  us  as  our  private  professional  jester. 
Now,  Rosalind,  force  a smile  and  make  a speech.' 

Rosalind  didn’t  make  a speech.  She  leant  across  the 
table,  took  hold  of  Denis's  sleeve,  and  said,  ‘ We  want  you  to 
come  with  us.  Do  come  ! We  can't  go  unless  you  do.' 

The  thought  of  their  imminent  departure  had  made  Denis 
very  sad,  but  for  a moment  a marvellous  light  seemed  to 
beam  across  his  gloom.  To  go  abroad — abroad,  with  them  ! 
It  wouldn't  matter  what  happened  to  him  after  that ! Then 
the  gloom  descended  again,  stifling,  impenetrable — a fog 
that  seemed  to  invade  his  eyes  and  throat.  He  shook  his 
head  slowly. 

‘ If  you  're  thinking  what  I think  you  're  thinking,'  said 
Mr.  Duroy  gently,  ‘ don't  think  it  any  more.  It  has  been 
the  dream  of  our  lives,  to  have  you  as  a guest,  and,  once 
we 've  ensnared  you,  we  shall  absolutely  refuse  to  part  with 
you  until  the  end  of  the  holidays.  So  pack  your  bag  and 
polish  up  your  French  accent  and  come  along  of  us.' 

‘ Denis,  you  must ! ' commanded  Rosalind.  Denis  was 
silent  for  a moment. 

‘ It 's  most  awfully  kind  of  you,'  he  said,  ‘ it 's  kinder  than 
anything  I ever  heard  of.  But — there 's  my  father.  I 
suppose  I 've  got  to  go  home.' 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


185 


* Oh,  tell  him  that  you  are  going  abroad  to  learn  French 
and  Italian/  said  Noel,  ‘ with  three  tutors  who  are  all  wise 
with  a wisdom  beyond  Solomon's.  He  can't  refuse  to  let 
you  come  ; it 's  an  unparalleled  opportunity  to  combine 
learning,  pleasure,  and  perspiring  climbs  up  perpendicular 
precipices.  If  you  fall  into  a crevasse,  I promise  to  take  your 
place  as  his  son.' 

‘ I 'll  write  to  him,  if  you  like,'  suggested  Mr.  Duroy.  But 
Denis  begged  him  rather  hastily  not  to  do  anything  of  the 
kind.  ‘ I 'll  write  myself,'  he  said.  ‘ And  if  he  doesn't 
answer  this  time,'  he  added  inwardly,  ‘ I know  quite  well 
what  I 'll  do.' 

‘ Now  you  're  looking  just  like  you  did  when  I first  saw 
you  ! ' said  Rosalind,  ‘ do  you  remember  ? That  night  on 
the  moor  just  before  you  came  here.  Oh,  what  a lovely, 
lovely  time  we  're  going  to  have  ! ' 

The  sun  set  in  scarlet  and  gold  behind  the  terrace  elms, 
and  one  by  one  the  lights  shone  out  from  study  and  form- 
room  windows.  After  the  Duroys  had  gone,  Denis  wandered 
up  and  down  the  avenue  until  the  bell  for  locking-up  sounded. 
He  looked  so  very  solemn  that  some  acquaintances  who  passed 
bombarded  him  with  mocking  sympathy ; he  heard  the 
words,  ‘ Tellier's  sister,'  and  something  about  Arbuthnot ; 
but  he  took  no  notice  of  them,  and  soon  the  gay  voices  died 
in  the  quiet  evening  air. 

The  scheme  for  the  holidays  which  Rosalind  had  proposed 
seemed,  from  his  point  of  view,  to  be  quite  flawless.  He 
would  avoid  the  depressing  atmosphere  of  the  Red  House  and 
the  too  righteous  coldness  of  his  father,  and  instead  of  losing 
the  Duroys  and  Noel  for  ever,  he  would  live  in  the  closest 
intimacy  with  them  for  two  months  amid  lovely  surroundings. 
Yet  there  was  something  that  made  him  hesitate, — some 
queer  instinct  was  driving  him  in  spite  of  himself  towards  his 
home  ; yet  all  the  while  he  knew  that  the  holidays  there  would 
be  almost  unendurable.  What  was  this  strange  inward  voice 
that  seemed  to  advise  one  to  do  things  which  one  knew  would 
be  excessively  unpleasant  ? And  not  merely  unpleasant, 
but  useless  ; for  even  if  the  feud  ended,  another  would  arise 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


1 86 

from  its  ashes  ; of  that  he  was  quite  certain.  This  invitation 
offered  a chance  of  experience  that  no  sane  person  would 
willingly  miss  ; surely  even  his  father  would  realise  that,  in 
spite  of  his  unjust  attitude  towards  the  travelling  companions. 

After  all,  to  go  to  France  without  letting  any  one  know 
of  his  departure  would  be  a fair  return,  he  thought,  for  the 
complete  disregard  of  his  existence  that  his  father  had  mani- 
fested all  through  the  term.  As  his  father  hadn’t  cared 
what  happened  to  him  for  thirteen  weeks,  he  probably 
wouldn’t  care  what  might  happen  during  the  following  two 
months.  But  though  he  said  this  to  himself,  he  felt  none  of 
the  old  angry  pleasure  in  an  act  of  defiance,  and  eventually 
he  went  to  the  form-room  and  wrote  a letter  to  Dr.  Yorke. 
It  was  Saturday  evening  ; Wednesday  was  the  last  day  of 
term  ; there  was  plenty  of  time  in  which  to  receive  an  answer. 

The  combined  influences  of  the  visit  of  the  Duroys,  the 
perfect  weather,  the  end  of  term,  and  the  great  hope  for 
the  holidays,  made  him  feel  so  happy  that  he  felt  at  peace 
even  with  his  father,  and  actually  persuaded  himself  that 
if  the  answer  to  his  letter  offered,  as  he  expected,  to  forget 
and  forgive  everything  if  only  he  would  not  go  abroad,  he 
would  be  prepared  to  acquiesce.  It  would  be  a ghastly  act 
of  renunciation,  but  still  he  would  perform  it,  he  believed. 
Thus,  in  moments  of  spiritual  exaltation,  do  we  become  our 
own  dupes. 

And  then  the  inconstant  vane  of  his  emotions  veered 
sharply.  Tuesday  passed,  Wednesday  came,  and  there  was 
no  letter.  He  consulted  Noel,  who  advised  a reply-paid 
telegram.  This  was  sent  at  half-past  twelve,  but  the  pay- 
ment for  the  reply  was  gold  cast  into  the  inane  ; Dr.  Yorke 
was  mute  as  the  shy  ghosts  of  ancestors  invoked  by  mediums. 
Denis  sent  another  telegram  at  five  o’clock,  with  the  same 
success,  as  Noel  remarked,  perhaps  ironically,  for  he  wanted 
Denis  to  come  to  France,  and  foresaw  what  would  happen  if 
Dr.  Yorke  didn’t  answer.  ‘ All  the  same,  he  ’s  an  unnatural 
old  beast,’  thought  Noel. 

Noel  spent  the  last  evening  of  term  in  revelry  with 
Arbuthnot  and  other  choice  spirits.  He  had  arranged  with 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


187 

Denis  to  meet  at  an  abnormal  hour  in  the  morning  ; but  as  he 
was  going  across  to  his  house  to  submit  to  the  inevitable 
cheering  that  sped  every  popular  person  who  was  leaving,  a 
small  figure  rushed  wildly  towards  him  through  the  darkness. 

‘ It  ’s  all  right/  said  a breathless  voice  • ‘ I ’m  coming  ! ’ 

' Has  the  wicked  old  reprobate  wired  ? ' asked  the 
irreverent  Noel. 

'No/  said  the  voice  in  a tone  of  suppressed  and  violent 
excitement.  ‘ No  ! and  it  wouldn’t  make  any  difference 
if  he  did, — not  one  bit ! I ’m  sick  of  waiting  ; I wish  I ’d 
never  sent  those  telegrams  to  him  ; he  thinks  he  scores  me 
off  by  not  answering.  He  can  score  me  off  as  much  as  he 
likes  ; I don’t  care  if  I never  see  him  again  ! I don’t  really  ! ’ 

‘ Ah  ! ’ said  Noel : ‘ it ’s  his  way  of  testing  your  character, 
my  dear.’ 

‘ It ’s  his  way  of  bullying  me  ! ’ retorted  the  voice,  with  a 
huskiness  not  far  removed  from  a sob.  And  its  owner  turned 
abruptly  and  began  to  walk  swiftly  in  the  direction  of  Lister’s. 
Noel  watched  him  for  a moment,  and  then  raised  his  eyebrows 
as  far  as  he  could,  turned  the  palms  of  his  hands  outward, 
and  gazed  with  eloquent  eyes  at  the  stars. 


1 88 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


PART  II 

XXIII 

WHEN,  long  afterwards,  Denis  looked  back  on  his 
life  at  school,  it  seemed  to  him  that  all  the  memor- 
able events  had  happened  during  his  first  three  terms,  and 
that  his  capacity  for  receiving  impressions  of  actual  life 
became  less  and  less  during  the  four  years  which  succeeded 
that  period.  After  Noel  had  left,  his  small  friend  found 
himself  drifting  into  closer  association  with  boys  of  his  own 
age  ; except  Lenwood,  with  whom  he  remained  intimate, 
he  had  no  acquaintances  who  were  remarkable  for  vital  and 
stimulating  temperaments ; the  majority  of  them  were 
placid,  sober  persons  who  played  games  and  worked  more  or 
less  regularly,  and  seemed  perpetually  contented  to  limit 
their  conversation  to  school  gossip.  It  was  in  their  company 
that  Denis  ascended  from  form  to  form  ; it  was  with  three  of 
them  that  he  shared  a study, — a delicious  privilege  to  one 
who  had  existed  for  half  a dozen  terms  between  the  dis- 
comfort of  the  form-room  and  the  common-room  of  the 
house,  which  latter  retreat  was  apt  to  be  regarded  as  the 
private  abode  of  certain  antique  and  turbulent  persons  who 
always  remained  in  too  low  a form  to  be  ‘ studyable  ’ ; it 
was  with  them,  at  last,  that  he  reached  the  Sixth,  and 
attained  a dignity  which  did  not  seem  to  produce  any  real 
alteration  in  their  temperaments. 

But  though  he  formed  no  friendships  that  were  sufficiently 
intimate  to  endure  beyond  that  particular  phase  of  his  life, 
he  found  that  most  of  his  associates  were  very  good  company, 
and  he  was  fairly  popular  amongst  his  contemporaries.  In 
spite  of  his  wicked  devotion  to  music  and  reading  he  was 
never  regarded  as  a prig,  probably  because  he  was  quite 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


189 

without  fear  when  he  played  games  and  kept  his  theories  of 
life  to  himself.  The  nervous  crises  which  had  troubled  him 
during  his  first  year  diminished  as  he  became  older  and 
stronger,  or  were  absorbed  into  his  ever-growing  enthusiasm 
for  music ; and  if  a day  came  when  the  whole  world  seemed 
out  of  tune  and  dejection  weighed  down  his  soul,  he  contrived 
to  suffer  in  secret.  Loneliness  of  spirit  seemed  preferable  to 
the  well-meant  sympathy  of  those  who  could  not  understand. 

At  such  times,  however,  the  effort  of  repressing  the  violent 
desire  to  relieve  his  pent-up  irritation  by  some  passionate 
outburst  was  very  great,  and  he  would  be  tormented  with 
headaches  for  a week  afterwards.  But  he  had  curbed  himself 
successfully  on  all  but  one  occasion,  which  befell,  when  he 
was  still  a small  boy,  after  the  service  in  chapel  at  which  he 
and  a hundred  others  had  been  confirmed.  The  preparation 
for  this  ceremony  had  consisted  of  a rather  perfunctory  study 
of  the  catechism  and  various  harangues  from  Mr.  Lister. 
The  most  fanatical  admirer  of  Mr.  Lister  would  have  been 
obliged  to  admit  that  he  was  not  at  his  best  when  he  con- 
ducted confirmation  classes  ; he  snorted,  he  barked,  he  held 
forth  concerning  the  solemnity  of  the  occasion,  and  then 
addressed  a boy  with  his  usual  formula,  and  he  was  obviously 
relieved  when  the  hour's  instruction  ended. 

Denis  received  various  devotional  books  which  he  duly 
read,  but  they  seemed  to  be  written  in  a language  of  which 
he  was  ignorant,  and  did  not  explain  the  nature  of  these 
obscure  responsibilities  which  he  was  about  to  assume.  It 
was  like  Denis  to  worry  himself  into  a frantic  condition  of 
jumping  nerves  about  an  affair  that  the  other  boys  treated  as 
a matter  of  course.  They  behaved  decently ; it  was  bad 
form  to  make  confirmation  classes  a theme  for  laughter, 
however  funny  Mr.  Lister  might  be,  but  as  to  expecting  that 
a solemn  change  was  about  to  happen  in  their  lives  ! — to 
them  confirmation  seemed  a kind  of  degree  which  every  one 
took  when  he  reached  a certain  age,  and  certainly  not  an 
initiation  into  a higher  sphere  of  duty.  At  the  actual  cere- 
mony Denis  had  seen  many  fashionably  dressed  mothers  in 
chapel  who  all  seemed  to  be  in  a state  of  almost  hysterical 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


190 

emotion,  and  the  spectacle — which,  he  knew,  should  have 
been  deeply  impressive — irritated  him  still  more  ; he  felt  as 
if  he  had  been  entrapped  into  sharing  in  some  ritual  that  was 
quite  beyond  his  comprehension.  The  organist  contributed 
to  his  misery  by  playing  a sentimental  voluntary  for  which 
some  English  musician  of  the  Victorian  period  was  responsible. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  the  Bishop  had  a sinister  face.  When 
the  long  ceremony  was  over,  Denis  went  out  alone  from  the 
school  gates  and  walked  very  fast  until  he  came  to  a wood, 
which  he  entered.  He  sat  down  under  a tree,  pressing  his 
hand  against  his  throbbing  temples  and  vainly  trying  to 
resist  an  extraordinary  impulse  to  swear,  to  utter  blasphemies. 
. . . The  obsession  gradually  passed  away,  and  he  returned  to 
school  with  his  usual  aspect  of  calm.  It  seemed  to  him  after- 
wards that  he  had  really  been  mad  for  that  strange  half-hour. 

He  wondered  sometimes  why  he  was  not  thoroughly 
unpopular  at  school,  for  he  noticed  that,  as  a general  rule, 
the  boys  with  whom  he  felt  in  sympathy  were  despised  by 
the  others.  But  the  question  of  popularity  was  really  too 
complicated  ; one  boy  would  be  condemned  for  qualities 
precisely  similar  to  those  which  made  another  one  liked  ; 
and  the  causes  of  offence  were  innumerable  : a pimply  face, 
a certain  trick  of  walking  or  speaking,  stamped  a boy  as  a 
pariah  as  soon  as  he  arrived  at  school,  and  a pariah  he 
remained  to  the  end  of  his  days  unless  he  developed  into  an 
athlete.  Even  an  athlete  might  be  universally  loathed  ; 
one  boy,  who  was  in  the  Fifteen,  had  at  one  time  worn  the 
unpopular  article  of  apparel  which  is  vulgarly  known  as  a 
dicky,  and  he  never  quite  contrived  to  live  down  the  memory 
of  that  insolence.  Another,  who  was  in  the  Sixth,  was 
popularly  known  as  Bloody  Athanasius,  because,  when  he 
was  younger,  he  had  kept  a diary,  and  being  the  son  of  a 
High  Church  parson,  had  dutifully  entered  all  the  Saints' 
days.  The  privacy  of  this  journal  had  been  violated,  and 
popular  tradition  affirmed  that  one  of  the  entries  was  this : 

‘ To-day  let  me  remember  that  the  blessed  Athanasius 
bled  a bucketful.'  Yet  another,  a boy  of  mature  years,  was 
obliged  to  go  into  the  studies  of  certain  seniors  and  to 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


191 

reiterate  interminably  the  mystic  phrase  ‘ Prince  of  Bohemia  9 
with  nasal  emphasis.  The  origin  of  this  remarkable  ordeal 
was  shrouded  in  the  darkest  mystery,  but  the  sufferer  was 
universally  despised.  Obscure  prejudice  would  develop 
against  quite  inoffensive  new  boys,  and  people  who  were 
really  kind  and  sensible  would  acquiesce  in  it  blindly.  It 
seemed  sometimes  as  if  any  malicious  rogue  had  the  power  of 
blighting  all  the  years  of  a school  existence. 

Denis  often  thought  afterwards  that  his  peaceful  life 
in  term-time  was  Fate's  compensation  for  the  permanent 
discomfort  of  his  holidays.  The  last  chance  of  reconciliation 
with  his  father  had  been  lost  when  he  joined  the  Duroys  at 
the  end  of  his  first  summer  term,  and  enjoyed  an  ecstatic 
and  ever-memorable  holiday  with  them  in  France,  the  Tyrol, 
and  North  Italy.  Dr.  Yorke  had  never  imagined  that  Denis 
would  dare  to  go  without  his  permission,  and  when  he 
received  a letter  from  his  son  with  a French  stamp  on  the 
envelope,  he  tore  it  to  pieces  without  reading  it,  and  worked 
himself  up  to  a pitch  of  incoherent  rage  which  frightened 
even  Gabriel. 

Denis,  with  a face  that  wore  all  the  hues  of  antique 
mahogany,  returned  to  England  a fortnight  before  the 
beginning  of  the  autumn  term  to  find  that  Dr.  Yorke  had 
left  the  Red  House  on  the  day  preceding  his  own  arrival. 
A strange  man  with  red  whiskers  was  doing  Dr.  Yorke 's 
work  ; he  regarded  Denis  with  suspicion,  and  expressed  his 
surprise  in  finding  that  Dr.  Yorke  had  a son.  It  was  a 
peculiar  home-coming  ; Denis  stayed  for  a night  with  the 
red  whiskers  and  spent  the  remaining  fortnight  with 
Gabriel  Searle.  When  he  returned  home  for  the  Christmas 
holidays  Dr.  Yorke  nodded  to  him  without  shaking  hands, 
and  thenceforward  they  did  not  speak  to  one  another  unless 
it  was  absolutely  necessary  to  do  so.  This  delightful  state  of 
affairs  continued  for  the  remainder  of  Denis's  life  at  school, 
and  eventually  he  became  so  completely  accustomed  to  it 
that  he  lost  all  sense  of  its  strangeness.  His  father,  too, 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  that  their  relations  with  each 
other  had  ever  been  different. 


192 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


During  the  holidays  Denis  reverted  to  the  life  which  he 
had  led  before  he  met  the  Duroys  and  went  to  school.  He 
walked  immense  distances  on  the  hills  and  worked  at  music 
assiduously.  Gradually  these  two  occupations  became 
merged  into  one,  for  when  he  tramped  the  springy  turf  of  the 
uplands  and  breasted  the  wind  he  was  haunted  by  most 
importunate  tunes, — fragments  of  song  which  were  born 
suddenly,  yet  seemed  to  have  haunted  him  in  a less  tangible 
shape  for  the  whole  of  his  life,  or  insistent  throbbing  rhythms 
that  importuned  him  with  an  imperative  demand  for  melody. 
In  that  particular  part  of  England  the  blatant  masterpiece 
of  the  music-hall  had  not  yet  dethroned  the  old  songs  of  the 
countryside,  the  shepherd  on  the  down  and  the  hedger  in 
the  valley  still  warbled  uncouth  strains,  and  on  Saturday 
evenings  the  village  alehouse  would  echo  with  ancient 
choruses.  For  a long  time  Denis  had  despised  these  rustic 
airs  ; their  monotony,  their  odd  intervals,  and  the  apparently 
wrong  note  on  which  they  ended  seemed  quite  barbarous 
after  Schumann  and  Schubert ; but  gradually  he  had  begun 
to  see  that  they  really  had  a rugged  beauty,  a bare  austerity 
of  form  which  had  something  of  the  quality  possessed  by  the 
great  tithe-barns  where  they  had  been  sung  so  often  in  old 
years.  He  began  to  write  down  every  tune  that  he  heard, 
and  to  set  them  to  simple  accompaniments.  He  even 
attempted  to  write  somewhat  similar  music  for  various  old 
ballads  which  he  found  in  a copy  of  Percy’s  Reliques  of 
Ancient  Poetry , and  played  some  of  the  settings  to  Gabriel, 
who  rebuked  him  for  employing  consecutive  fifths,  and 
showed  him  that  the  harmonies  were  unresolved. 

‘ But  they  resolve  afterwards  inside  my  head,’  said  Denis 
cryptically.  Gabriel  would  have  none  of  this  kind  of  thing. 

* Music  is  much  more  suggestive  if  it  is  a definite  form,’  he 
explained,  ‘ if  it ’s  a pattern,  so  to  speak.  All  art  is  shapely. 
Don’t  you  go  wandering  after  Wagner.  A mighty  genius, 
of  course,  but  he  attempted  the  impossible.  He  was  like  a 
great  deep-voiced  ocean  trying  to  break  down  the  barriers 
of  some  iron  coast.  He  wasted  his  strength  in  assailing 
eternal  limits.’  Denis  thought  that  if  Wagner  was  like  the 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


193 


sea,  Gabriel  was  rather  like  a Canute  who  warned  off  the 
waves  from  his  own  particular  shore,  and  that,  after  all, 
the  great  sea  was  always  victorious  in  the  end.  But  he  said 
nothing.  When,  however,  he  changed  his  poor  little  settings 
into  more  elaborate  accompaniments  with  a careful  sequence 
of  chords  and  with  full  closes,  he  found  that  all  the  character 
had  gone  from  them  ; they  became  exactly  like  the  honeyed 
ballads  that  were  so  dear  to  the  fervid  heart  of  the  Vicar’s 
daughter.  So  he  reverted  to  his  old  manner,  and  felt  guilty 
whenever  he  discussed  music  with  Gabriel. 

He  had  not  lost  his  old  love  of  open  spaces  ; there  were 
still  great  voices  at  night  on  the  moor,  and  sometimes  the 
soft  sighing  of  a little  wind  amongst  the  dry  grasses  of  the 
Roman  camp  would  make  his  heart  leap  with  an  ecstasy  that 
was  almost  pain.  But  whereas  in  old  days  the  drift  of  those 
voices  had  been  darkly  obscure,  and  sometimes  almost 
terrifying,  it  seemed  to  him  now  that  they  had  a definite 
tuneful  utterance,  a message  which  he  could  translate,  not 
into  language,  but  into  music.  Gradually  all  the  vague 
trouble  and  yearning  in  his  soul  became  definite  also  ; lights 
began  to  shine  out  along  the  dim  path  of  the  future,  and  the 
caverns  of  painful  thought  in  which  he  had  groped  so  blindly 
became  suddenly  radiant.  The  thrill  of  ecstasy  that  came 
down  the  wind  from  some  earthly  paradise,  where  the 
sunlight  was  eternal  and  the  radiant  flowers  never  lost  their 
sweetness  ; the  deep  peace  that  seemed  to  descend  visibly 
when  the  sun  set  in  a wild  passion  of  fire  beyond  immense  and 
purple  hills  ; the  awe  that  made  one  breathless  in  the  holy 
silence  of  dawn, — to  translate  all  these  divine  sensations,  to 
arrest  their  fleeting  splendour,  so  that  others  could  share  it, — 
this  was  the  longing  which  had  tormented  him,  at  first 
obscurely,  but  at  length  with  a sharp  reality  that  could  not  be 
mistaken  ! All  the  splendour  of  life  was  concentrated  into 
these  tremendous  moments  ; and  that  splendour  was  not 
transitory,  like  the  pageant  of  colour  or  the  grave  sounds 
which  revealed  it,  but  could  be  captured  and  made  eternal, 
perhaps  in  books,  perhaps  in  pictures,  certainly  in  music, — 
in  music  which  should  bring  to  the  listener,  not  indeed  the 

N 


194 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


exact  vision  beheld  by  the  eyes  of  the  composer,  but  the 
great  thrill  of  joy,  of  hope,  of  noble  sadness  that  blinded  them 
with  sudden  tears  ! 

And  these  strange  moments  of  ecstasy  were  not  merely 
splendid  because  at  such  times  only  did  one  seem  really  to 
live — to  feel  vitality  tingling  in  every  fibre  of  one's  being — 
they  were  wonderful  because  each  of  them  seemed  to  have 
a permanent  effect  on  the  soul,  so  that  afterwards  all  the 
ordinary  greyness  of  life  glowed  with  a new  radiance,  each 
experience  of  this  kind  rendering  one  more  sensitive  to 
subsequent  impressions.  But  this  ecstasy,  as  Denis  realised 
at  school,  was  not  possible  to  every  one  ; the  feverish  hurry 
or  unaspiring  comfort  of  modern  life  had  stifled  it ; to  recreate 
it  a powerful  medium,  which  appealed  to  some  intimate 
instinct  in  human  nature,  was  necessary,  and  this  medium  was 
to  be  found  in  art.  Art  took  the  great  emotions  of  those 
great  moments  and  made  them  eternal  in  beauty,  giving 
actual  form  to  abstract  joy  and  sorrow,  and  luring  the 
receptive  mind  into  harmony  with  noble  ideas. 

It  need  scarcely  be  said  that  Denis  did  not  arrive  suddenly 
at  these  aesthetic  conclusions.  By  the  time  he  was  eighteen, 
however,  and  a tall  though  slender  pillar  of  the  Sixth  form, 
he  had  no  doubts  about  his  own  destiny  ; music  had  become 
the  enthralling  mistress  of  his  soul,  and  his  modest  ambition 
was  to  compose  an  immense  trilogy  which  should  reveal  all 
the  secrets  of  life  from  the  agony  of  birth  to  the  agony  of 
death,  and  echo  down  all  future  ages,  triumphant  and 
immortal.  In  the  meantime  he  continued  to  write  accom- 
paniments for  folk-songs,  and  when  certain  of  these  were 
sung  at  a school  concert  he  felt  that  he  had  ceased  to  be  a 
schoolboy,  and  that  the  career  of  his  maturity  had  already 
begun. 

The  old  music-master,  who  was  really  proud  of  the  progress 
of  Denis  as  a pianist,  seemed  to  view  his  creative  efforts 
with  slight  disfavour.  ‘ You  are  like  a puppy  who  wants  to 
go  hunting  before  his  eyes  are  opened/  he  said.  ‘ But  it  is 
your  nature  to  be  so  ; when  you  first  came  to  me  you  wanted 
to  learn  Chopin's  Polonaises,  having  a little  finger  like  a damp 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


195 


wax  match,  and  stretching  the  octave  with  difficulty/  Denis 
had  developed  a great  affection  for  the  kind,  gruff  old  German, 
who  was  despised  by  the  School  because  of  his  elastic-sided 
boots.  ‘ A frousty  old  man  ! ’ said  the  School,  and  the  small 
boys  croaked  like  frogs  outside  his  windows,  not  because  they 
were  so  illiterate  as  to  imagine  that  Germans,  like  French- 
men, lived  entirely  on  a diet  of  those  animals,  but  because 
their  chorus  was  supposed  to  resemble  exactly  the  guttural 
accents  of  the  music-master. 

The  old  man  lived  alone  in  a cottage  on  the  Heath.  During 
his  last  year  at  school  Denis  had  on  one  occasion  entered  this 
abode,  being  obliged  to  interview  the  Professor  concerning 
a school  concert  which  he  was  helping  to  arrange.  He  found 
him  sitting  in  a small  and  dingy  room  whose  window  over- 
looked a garden  full  of  sodden  cabbages  and  desolate-looking 
chrysanthemums  and  Michaelmas  daisies.  On  the  side- 
board were  some  unwashed  cups  and  plates,  and  the  room 
smelt  strongly  of  stale  tobacco.  The  Professor  was  clad 
in  a very  old  dressing-gown  of  flowered  silk  on  which  all  the 
flowers  seemed  to  have  run  to  seed  and  thrown  out  wild 
tendrils  that  hung  down  to  the  ground.  A rheumy-eyed 
dachshound  lay  at  his  feet,  and  barked  huskily  at  Denis 
when  he  entered. 

Denis  explained  his  business,  and  as  soon  as  the  affair 
was  settled,  took  up  his  cap  and  prepared  to  depart.  Then, 
to  his  great  surprise,  the  Professor  said,  almost  timidly, 
‘ Will  you  not  stay  for  a few  moments,  Yorke  ? I so  rarely 
have  an  opportunity  of  conversation  with  one  of  my  pupils. 
But  perhaps  you  have  an  engagement  ? ' 

Denis  replied  that  he  was  delighted  to  stay,  and  sat  down. 
He  patted  the  dachshound,  who  wagged  his  tail  feebly.  The 
old  man  shuffled  about  the  room,  peering  behind  cups  and 
books  with  his  short-sighted  eyes. 

‘ You  like  dogs  ? that  is  good/  he  said.  ‘ Wotan  and  I 
have  lived  together  for  fourteen  years.  He  is  faithful,  though 
he  hates  music  ; but  he  is  very  old  and  blind.  Probably  he 
would  prefer  to  be  deaf,  the  poor  fellow  ! ’ 

Wotan’s  hatred  of  music  made  Denis  think  of  Narcisse, 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


196 

and  with  the  thought  came  a sense  of  the  contrast  between 
the  life  of  those  happy  musicians  who  annoyed  the  poodle, 
and  that  of  this  lonely  old  man  in  his  untidy  cottage,  engaged, 
year  after  year,  in  the  thankless  labour  of  driving  music 
into  the  unmusical  and  teaching  the  scale  of  C major  to 
impertinent  little  boys.  The  Professor,  meanwhile,  had 
found  the  object  for  which  he  had  been  searching.  It  was 
a large  china  pipe  painted  with  the  figure  of  a stout,  nude 
lady  with  purple  flesh.  It  was  apparently  full  of  tobacco, 
for  he  lit  it  at  once.  After  the  first  few  puffs  he  withdrew  it 
from  his  lips,  and  an  expression  of  doubt  came  over  his  face. 

‘ I believe/  he  said  in  his  queer  precise  English,  ‘ that  the 
masters  are  not  encouraged  to  smoke  in  the  presence  of  boys. 
It  was  natural  that  I should  forget,  for  you  are  the  first  boy 
who  has  ever  entered  this  room/  He  paused,  and  looked  at 
Denis  as  if  he  were  some  strange  animal. 

‘ I expect  you  're  always  very  busy  here  as  well  as  at 
school/  murmured  Denis. 

‘ It  is  not  that/  answered  the  Professor,  ‘ but  they  do  not 
care  to  come.  To  an  English  boy  a foreigner  is  never  a 
human  being.  It  is  my  misfortune,  for  I like  boys/ 

He  sank  into  a chair,  and  began  to  pull  hard  at  his  pipe. 
His  conscience  apparently  ceased  to  trouble  him  after  the 
first  few  whiffs,  and  in  a short  time  the  room  was  hazy  with 
smoke.  For  a while  they  sat  in  silence,  and  Denis  began  to 
wonder  why  he  had  been  asked  to  stay.  At  length  the 
Professor  uttered  an  abrupt  sentence. 

‘ What  are  you  going  to  do  ? * he  asked.  He  leant  back 
in  the  chair  and  regarded  Denis  benevolently  through  his 
smoke-wreathed  spectacles. 

‘ To  do  ? ’ echoed  Denis  doubtfully. 

‘ When  you  leave,  I mean/  explained  the  Professor.  * You 
have  been  at  school  for  many  years  ; I presume  that  you  will 
leave  before  long.  Has  your  family  any  plans  for  you  ? ' 

Denis  shook  his  head. 

‘ I really  haven’t  thought  about  leaving/  he  said. 

‘ English,  English  ! ’ said  the  Professor.  1 Laissez-faire — 
trouble  me  not  with  contingencies — that  is  the  principle  of 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


197 


your  schools  and  universities  here.  Then  you  have  no 
cravings,  no  inclinations,  nothing  inside  of  you  that  says, 
44  I must  get  out,  I must  get  out  and  be  known  unto  men  ” ? 
You  have  never  felt  that  ? 9 

4 Oh  often/  answered  Denis.  4 Have  you  felt  it  too,  sir  ? ’ 
he  asked  after  a moment.  The  Professor  waved  a fat,  red 
hand. 

4 Let  us  leave  me  out  of  the  discussion/  he  said  very  grimly. 
4 To  what  do  you  wish  to  devote  your  life  ? ’ 

4 To  music,  of  course/  said  Denis.  He  half-expected  that 
the  Professor  would  rise  and  shake  hands  fervently  with  him. 
But  the  old  man  sat  still  and  presently  uttered  a deep  groan. 

4 I thought  so,  I thought  so/  he  said.  4 Even  now,  after  all 
these  years,  I can  recognise  the  old  symptoms.  I observed 
them  in  you  long  ago,  and  for  many  terms  I have  watched 
them  growing,  growing.  Ah ! you  smile,  you  think  I 
talk  as  if  you  were  diseased.  And  I tell  you  that  it  is  a 
disease,  a madness,  this  art.  It  takes  the  most  kind-hearted 
of  men  by  the  throat,  and  for  it  they  will  forsake  father  and 
mother  and  friends  and  love  itself.  It  is  a monster.  It  is 
the  Venus  of  the  Horselberg/ 

His  voice  trembled,  his  eyes  glowed  behind  his  spectacles. 
After  a moment  he  spoke  more  calmly. 

4 You  will  not  be  able  to  accuse  me  of  the  habit  of  flattery/ 
he  said,  4 but  for  once  I will  say  that  from  the  first  I realised 
that  you  were  not  merely  a clever  boy  who  worked  hard  ; 
I perceived  that  you  had  the  Gift.  I tell  you  this  not  to  make 
you  glad,  but  because  it  is  a duty  I owe  to  music,  to  my  art. 
The  duty  that  I owe  to  you  follows  now.  Listen  ! There  are 
certain  persons  who  have  the  Gift  in  a small  degree,  and  these 
are  able  to  restrain  it,  to  dam  the  torrent,  to  make  it  useful 
to  them — mein  Gott  ! — useful ! They  become  fathers  of 
families,  and  professors  of  music  at  schools,  and  specialists 
on  the  diaphragm,  and  live  happily  and  die  with  money  in 
the  three  per  cents,  for  their  children.  But  there  are  others 
who  cannot  imitate  these  excellent  persons, — others  who 
are  like  men  that  attempt  to  hold  a tiger  in  leash,  and  are 
pulled  through  thorns  and  rivers  and  over  rocks,  and,  at 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


198 

last,  eaten — eaten  up  alive  ! For  them,  what  the  world 
calls  success  is  failure  ; they  labour  towards  their  impossible 
goal  with  blood  and  tears,  only  to  find  when  they  reach  it 
that  beyond  it  is  another  goal,  and  beyond  that  another,  and 
another  and  another,  world  without  end  amen.  The  ordinary 
joys  of  life  are  not  theirs,  for  who  can  enjoy  while  the  tiger 
is  always  tugging  and  tugging  at  the  leash  ? And  they  find, 
when  they  are  old  and  lonely,  that  after  all  their  strife  and 
pain  they  have  missed  the  mark  ; they  are  failures,  and  the 
tiger  crunches  their  old  bones,  and  their  names  are  forgotten. 
You  smile  again,  but  I tell  you  it  is  true,  true,  true  ! I have 
known  men  of  genius,  men  who  had  the  Gift,  men  from  whom 
one  might  expect  everything,  die  at  last  poor  and  lonely, 
which  doesn’t  matter,  and  die  feeling  that  they  were  failures, 
which  is  the  most  bitter  of  deaths.  They  knew  that  they  had 
renounced  everything  that  makes  life  pleasant,  and  for  what  ? 
For  a dream,  a delusion,  a shadow  floating  in  the  air.’ 

‘ But  they  weren’t  failures ! ’ cried  Denis.  * It  isn’t 
failure  to  toil  on  from  one  goal  to  another,  as  you  call  them, 
even  if  one  never  reaches  the  last  goal  of  all.  I call  your  man 
with  the  tiger  a success,  even  though  the  tiger  ate  him  in  the 
end.  I think  he  must  have  had  a splendid  time,  much 

better  than  the  comfort  of  the  prof of  the  diaphragm 

people,  I mean.  He  was  living,  and  they  were  just  sitting 
about — like  cabbages,’  he  added,  with  a glance  towards  the 
mouldering  garden. 

The  Professor  looked  at  him  steadily  for  some  moments. 

* If  you  think  that,  it  is  well,’  he  said,  ‘ but  you  must  con- 
tinue to  think  so.  You  must  never,  whilst  the  tiger  drags  you 
along,  look  upon  the  comfortable  houses  of  the  professors 
(whom  you  were  too  courteous  to  name)  and  envy  them  their 
armchairs  and  old  wine  and  magnificent  cigars.  There  is 
one  thing  worse  than  being  eaten  by  the  tiger,  and  that  is, 
cutting  him  adrift  and  going  to  join  the  sleek,  well-fed  persons. 
That,’  added  the  Professor  with  immense  emphasis,  ‘ that  is 
the  worst  and  darkest  of  all  imaginable  hells.’ 

‘ Oh,’  said  Denis,  4 1 don’t  think  I shall  become  one  of  the 
sleek  people.’ 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


199 


‘ Perhaps  not/  said  the  Professor ; ‘ but  beware,  always 
beware.  I myself,  though  you  will  find  it  hard  to  believe, 
was  once  an  enthusiast,  a scorner  of  cheap  triumphs.  But  I 
had  a wife,  and  it  was  hard  for  her.  ...  So  I wrote  quickly, 
too  quickly,  and  eventually  I came  here.  But  always  I 
thought,  “ Though  I am  a professor,  I am  not  yet  one  of  the 
sleek  people  ; the  spark  is  still  glowing  within  me.”  But 
there  came  a day  when  I knew  that  it  was  dead.  My  wife  is 
dead  too,  but  I remain  a professor.  Mein  Gott  ! but  one  has 
dreams  when  one  is  young  ! ' 

His  voice  died  away  in  an  incoherent  murmur,  and 
Denis  was  horribly  afraid  that  he  was  going  to  break  down. 
After  a moment  he  rekindled  his  pipe,  and  uttered  an 
oracle. 

4 There  are  three  things  essential  to  the  artist/  he  said, 
4 industry,  frugality,  liberty.  Without  industry  you  will 
become  a feeder  on  dreams,  a smoker,  as  the  great  Balzac  says, 
of  enchanted  cigarettes  ; if  you  are  not  frugal  you  will  scamp 
your  work  when  the  Christmas  bills  come  in,  and  you  may  even 
become  a musical  journalist ; and  if  you  have  not  liberty — if 
you  are  another  man's  slave  even  for  a few  hours  every  day — 
you  will  begin  to  regard  the  time  when  you  are  free  merely  as 
leisure,  and  to  fill  it  with  little  snippets  and  snappets  of  work 
when  you  should  be  devoting  every  moment  and  every 
thought  of  your  life  to  something  great  and  difficult  and  noble. 
Industry,  frugality,  liberty ; but  the  greatest  of  these  is 
liberty.  The  curse  of  regular  employment  of  any  kind  is 
that  it  gives  a man  a taste  for  holidays.  For  the  true 
artist  holidays  do  not  exist.  There  is  no  such  word  in  his 
dictionary.' 

Denis  was  jarred  by  the  somewhat  prosaic  note  of  this 
exhortation. 

‘ I suppose  that  a man's  method  of  work  depends  on  his 
temperament,'  he  said  gravely. 

The  Professor  frowned. 

‘ You  artists  in  England  and  France  talk  too  much  of 
temperament,'  he  cried.  ‘ In  Germany  that  does  not  concern 
us  ; we  have  it  naturally.  What  we  cultivate  is  the  will  to 


200 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


execute,  to  create — to  plan  gigantic  edifices  of  art  and  to  com- 
plete them.  And  so  we  have  our  B Minor  Mass  and  our  Fifth 
Symphony  and  our  Ring  of  the  Nibelungs,  whilst  you  have — 
nothing  ! You  are  little  amateurs,  with  your  dances  for 
Shakespeare's  comedies,  and  your  sentimental  songs  in  the 
minor  ; the  high  seriousness  of  art  is  dead  in  you  ; even  your 
men  of  undoubted  genius  take  to  comic  opera  in  despair. 
Your  critics  sit  in  drawing-rooms  furnished  in  the  style  of  i860 
and  write  drivel  that  exactly  matches  their  surroundings. 
Your  opera  is  a lounge  for  fops  and  a showroom  for  diamonds  ; 
your  church  music  is  an  insult  to  the  ears  of  the  angels,  and 
you  cannot  speak  of  Paderewski  without  mentioning  his  head 
of  hair  like  a prize  chrysanthemum.  An  Italian  fool  of  a 
conductor  who  mops  and  mows  like  a dancing-master  you  hail 
as  a genius,  and  the  beggarly  antics  of  a virtuoso  who  plays 
Paganini  on  a single  string  are  more  to  you  than  all  the  art  of 
J oachim.  I have  met  your  great  men,  your  musical  divinities; 
they  are  all  Mus.  Docs,  of  Oxford  and  Cambridge,  and  Knights 
of  the  Bath  and  arrant  praters,  and  I tell  you  that  they  are  all 
sterile,  sterile  as  dead  fish  ! They  have  built  up  an  academic 
system  to  suit  their  own  impotence,  a system  whereby  pro- 
fessors beget  professors,  and  pupils  of  promise  are  brought 
carefully  to  the  degree  of  accomplishment  that  is  demanded  of 
an  organist  in  the  parish  church  of  a provincial  town.  The 
only  gleam  of  sense  they  display  is  in  the  training  of  choirs,  and 
then  they  make  them  sing  their  own  ineffable  music.  That, 
my  dear  Yorke,  is  the  condition  of  things  in  this  year  of  dis- 
grace one  thousand  eight  hundred  and  ninety-six.  Are  you 
prepared  to  face  it,  or  will  you  become  a solicitor,  or  a haber- 
dasher ? You  smile  once  more,  but  I would  sooner  see  you 
sweeping  a crossing  or  charging  poor  widows  six  shillings  and 
eightpence  for  acknowledging  the  receipt  of  their  letters  than 
know  that  you  were  lost  in  that  inferno  and  earning  a comfort- 
able income.  You  must  be  prepared  to  struggle,  to  fight  till 
the  last  gasp.' 

Denis  leant  forward,  and  looked  at  him  with  very  bright 
eyes. 

‘ That  makes  the  struggle  all  the  more  splendid,  doesn't 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


201 


it  ? ' he  said : 1 to  go  in  single-handed,  I mean,  against  all  that 
kind  of  cheap  success,  and  do  something  really  big  that  shows 
up  its  littleness  ! Whilst  you  were  talking  two  lines  I read  the 
other  day  kept  on  singing  in  my  head : 

Be  your  own  star,  for  strength  is  from  within , 

And  one  against  the  world  will  always  win  ! 

If  one  could  always  remember  that,  one  would  be  safe  from 
all  the  beastly  people  you  talk  about.' 

‘ I don't  read  English  poetry,'  said  the  Professor,  ‘ but 
the  sentiment  seems  good,  though  over-paradoxical.  If  you 
devote  your  life  to  music  you  must  be  not  only  a marcher,  but 
a fighter  ; you  must  break  up  the  old  false  Dagons  and  throw 
them  out  on  the  threshold  ; you  must  accept  nothing  blindly, 
but  question  everything.  Enemies  will  encounter  you  with  a 
weapon  called  tradition  ; you  must  meet  it  with  the  bright 
steel  of  truth  and  honesty,  and  then  you  will  see  it  break  into  a 
thousand  flinders.  And  though  all  the  hosts  of  the  world  are 
gathered  against  you,  and  your  creative  power  seems  to  have 
gone,  you  must  never  despair  ; you  must  always  remember 
that  oppression  and  depression  can  be  lived  down,  can  be 
conquered  by  might  of  will.  You  may  think  of  me,  at  such 
times,  as  one  who  despaired  too  soon,  and  learnt  his  wisdom 
through  failure.' 

Abruptly  he  began  to  speak  of  other  things — the  school 
concert,  and  places  in  North  Italy  that  Denis  had  visited 
years  back  with  the  Duroys.  Only  when  Denis  rose  to  go  did 
he  revert  to  the  subject  of  his  musical  career. 

‘ I wouldn't  have  said  all  that,'  he  explained,  ' if  I wasn't 
convinced  that  you  are  destined  to  be  a musician.  I have 
had,  at  rare  intervals,  pupils  who  played  as  well  as  you,  but  I 
have  never  had  one  who  possessed  your  originality.  You 
may  have  thought  me  unkind  about  your  songs,  but  I have 
appreciated  a certain  durable  quality  that  underlies  all  their 
faults.  You  have  the  Gift ; I have  hopes  of  you.  Only, 
beware  ! ' 

Denis  carried  away  an  abiding  memory  of  the  old  man's 
shaggy  head  and  admonishing  finger  as  he  stood  in  the  door- 


202 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


way  of  that  decrepit  cottage.  And  as  he  walked  home  in  the 
misty  winter  twilight  the  great  road  of  the  future  seemed  to  lie 
before  him  more  vividly  than  ever. 

He  always  spent  the  Christmas  and  Easter  holidays  at 
home,  but  in  the  summer  he  usually  went  to  stay  with  Gabriel 
Searle  for  several  weeks.  On  two  occasions  Gabriel  had  carried 
him  off  to  a delightful  old  manor-house  in  the  Cotswolds, 
which  was  inhabited  by  his  sister,  a stout  widow  with  a keen 
sense  of  humour  and  a family  which  had  inherited  her  good 
quality.  There  were  two  boys  and  two  girls  ; the  eldest  of 
them  was  an  Oxford  undergraduate  who  had  just  finished  his 
freshman’s  year  and  wore  the  most  flamboyant  waistcoats. 
The  second  boy  was  at  Winchester  ; he  was  slightly  older 
than  Denis,  and  rather  delicate  ; the  girls,  aged  respectively 
thirteen  and  fifteen,  were  very  rosy  and  healthy  and  adored 
their  brothers  intensely.  It  was  not  long  before  they  adored 
Denis  also  ; and  life  at  the  Manor,  he  found,  was  very  jolly, 
with  its  long  sunny  days  of  tennis,  and  laziness,  and  picnics. 
The  Brabazons  were  certainly  a charming  family  ; one  and  all 
of  them  positively  radiated  good-nature  ; the  undergraduate 
was  a large,  gentle  creature  who  reminded  Denis  of  Arbuthnot, 
and  Cyril,  the  Winchester  boy,  who  had  funny  yellow  hair  like 
spun  silk  and  a beautiful,  sad  face  like  the  most  pathetic 
Pierrot  ever  painted,  possessed  an  inordinately  adventurous 
spirit  which  was  always  leading  them  into  the  most  comic 
escapades ; escapades  that  in  his  own  case  too  often  ended 
with  a crushing  headache  and  a day  of  complete  retirement 
from  that  joyful  world. 

It  was  a delightful  household  ; yet  Denis  often  thought 
wistfully  of  another  family  that  he  had  known,  and  wondered 
in  vain  what  had  become  of  it.  For  about  a year  after  the 
great  journey  in  France  and  Austria  and  Italy  Mr.  Duroy  and 
Rosalind  had  left  Paris  suddenly  and  had  gone,  first  to 
Lucerne,  then  to  Airolo,  and  then  had  vanished  completely 
into  the  vast  unknown.  It  had  been  arranged  that  Denis  was 
to  meet  them  at  the  beginning  of  the  summer  holidays,  and  to 
accompany  them  to  a village  in  the  forest  of  Fontainebleau  • 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


203 


about  a fortnight  before  the  end  of  term,  however,  he  had 
received  a letter  from  Rosalind  which  informed  him  that  their 
plans  were  changed  and  that  they  were  obliged  to  go  to 
Switzerland.  She  gave  no  reasons  for  the  change,  but  added 
that  they  hoped  to  return  to  France  in  a month,  and  that  he 
was  to  be  ready  to  join  them  then.  After  this,  a postcard 
from  Airolo,  with  a delicious  little  sketch  by  Rosalind  of  a 
corpulent  Mr.  Duroy  reclining  in  a carriage  drawn  by  an 
emaciated  horse,  and  then  silence,  absolute  silence.  Noel, 
apparently,  had  been  left  in  Paris,  but  Denis  did  not  know  his 
address,  and  when  he  sent  a letter  to  the  house  near  the 
Jardin  des  Plantes,  it  was  returned  to  him  through  the  French 
post-office. 

Term  after  term  had  gone  by,  and  still  there  was  no  news 
of  his  friends.  They  had  vanished  from  his  life  as  swiftly 
and  mysteriously  as  they  had  come  into  it ; the  only  visible 
memorials  of  their  existence  were  a few  notes  from  Rosalind, 
and  Noel's  name  on  the  boards  in  the  school  hall  which  com- 
memorated the  Fifteens  of  past  years.  The  sacred  precincts 
of  Parnasse  were  now  inhabited  by  some  quite  uninteresting 
poultry-farmers,  and  Denis  most  rarely  approached  it.  An 
army  of  desecrating  fowls  in  the  garden  that  had  once  been 
Rosalind's  was  a sight  not  to  be  endured.  But  he  needed  no 
actual  reminders  of  that  incomparable  triad,  for  every  detail 
of  the  days  that  he  had  passed  in  its  company  was  engraved 
with  intense  precision  on  the  tablets  of  his  memory  ; even  if 
he  heard  nothing  more  of  them  for  the  rest  of  his  life  he  could 
never  be  unfaithful  to  them,  and  he  was  certain  that  they 
would  never  forget  him.  The  idea  that  they  were  in  trouble  of 
any  kind  did  not  enter  his  head  ; they  had  always  seemed  to 
be  immune  from  all  the  shocks  and  misfortunes  that  assail 
ordinary  mortals,  though  there  was  an  exception  to  this  in  the 
death  of  Noel's  mother,  of  course.  Probably  they  had  grown 
suddenly  tired  of  civilisation  and  had  gone  to  Timbuktu  or  a 
South  Sea  island,  or  some  other  place  where  the  postal  arrange- 
ments were  defective.  He  was  quite  confident  that  he  would 
see  them  again.  Three  years  of  silence  were  powerless  to 
loosen  his  allegiance  ; for  him  there  was  still  only  one  house- 


204 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


hold  in  the  world,  and  the  Brabazons,  notwithstanding  their 
apparent  excellence,  were  mere  wraiths  by  the  side  of  those 
vanished  but  most  vivid  of  friends.  Even  when  they  were  far 
away  in  unknown  places,  the  Duroys  seemed  to  be  nearer  him 
than  any  other  person  who  was  actually  present.  And,  oddly 
enough,  it  was  their  influence  which  inspired  him,  even  more 
than  the  exhortations  of  the  old  Herr  Professor,  to  work 
tremendously  at  his  music. 

The  great  Lenwood  became  Head  of  the  School  about  two 
years  and  a half  after  he  and  Denis  had  entered  it.  Soon 
afterwards  he  won  a Balliol  scholarship,  and  when  he  was 
nineteen  he  went  up  to  Oxford.  He  left  school  without  regret 
and  unregretted  ; the  three  years,  he  informed  Denis,  formed 
an  unimportant  episode  in  his  life,  and  he  thanked  his  guiding 
star  that  he  had  passed  through  it  without  imbibing  any  con- 
ventional foolishness.  ‘ My  intellect  may  have  developed 
since  I came  here/  he  said,  ‘ in  fact,  I know  that  it  has  de- 
veloped ; but  I owe  school  nothing  on  that  account.  I have 
hopes  of  Oxford,  however  ; it  will  be  possible  to  meet  a few 
people  who  have  ideas.  No  one  ever  had  an  idea  here,  of 
course  ; even  you,  though  I must  say  you  aren’t  quite  ordin- 
ary, never  had  one  to  my  knowledge.  But  then,  of  course, 
you  ’re  a musician,  an  artist.  It  is  your  nature  to  live  in  a 
mental  fog.  The  life  of  the  mind — that ’s  the  life  I hope  to 
lead  at  the  ’Varsity.’ 

‘ I wonder  if  you  ’ll  meet  Arbuthnot  again,’  said  Denis. 
4 He  is  captain  of  the  Oxford  footer  team  this  year.’ 

‘ I don’t  think  I shall  have  much  use  for  Arbuthnot,’  Len- 
wood had  answered.  ‘ I understand  that  football  is  not 
compulsory  at  Balliol.’ 

Lenwood  had  become  vastly  superior,  and  was  disliked  by 
the  School.  His  calm  air  of  attainment  irritated  some  of  the 
masters  and  amused  the  others,  but  they  were  all  obliged  to 
admit  that  he  was  the  finest  scholar  that  the  School  had 
possessed  for  many  years.  All  his  fair  copies  were  enshrined 
in  the  library,  and  his  description,  in  the  manner  of  Juvenal, 
of  a football  match,  was  printed  by  the  headmaster  at  his  own 
expense.  His  gift  of  sardonic  humour  had  developed  greatly  ; 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


205 


his  oration  on  Speech  Day,  when  for  half  an  hour  he  alternately 
patronised  and  goaded  an  astonished  crowd  of  parents  and 
members  of  the  governing  body,  was  long  and  angrily  remem- 
bered. Sometimes  Denis  decided  that  he  was  insufferable  ; 
yet  their  friendship  endured  until  the  end  of  Lenwood’s 
brilliant  school  course.  Denis  hated  his  conceit,  and  his  trick 
of  taking  all  the  good  things  of  literature  in  the  wrong  way — 
of  praising  Rossetti  for  his  metaphysics  and  Shakespeare  for 
his  artful  affectations  ; but  in  spite  of  all  his  irritating  airs 
he  possessed  a queer  magnetism  ; he  had  personality.  It  was 
perhaps  because  his  own  nature  was  inclined  to  be  retiring  that 
Denis  was  attracted  by  a complete  and  hardened  individualist 
who  knew  what  he  wanted  in  the  world,  and  seized  it  with  an 
utter  disregard  of  popular  opinion. 

He  said  farewell  to  Denis  without  emotion,  and  Denis,  who 
was  going  home  by  a later  train,  watched  from  the  lodge  gates 
until  his  tall  figure  had  vanished  beyond  the  chestnuts,  and 
felt  that  an  episode  in  his  life  was  ended  for  ever.  He  was 
disappointed — absurdly  enough,  since  he  knew  the  great 
man’s  peculiarities  so  well — that  Lenwood  had  shaken  hands 
with  him  as  briefly  as  if  he  had  been  a casual  acquaintance. 
As  he  looked  down  the  avenue  he  remembered  the  long-distant 
day  when  they  had  first  met  beneath  its  trees.  How  lonely 
he  had  been,  and  how  pleased  he  had  felt  when  Lenwood  spoke 
to  him  ! Yet  their  friendship  had  been  a failure  ; he  was 
scarcely  more  intimate  with  Lenwood  now  than  on  that  day  ; 
they  had  merely  drifted  along  side  by  side  and  then  parted  for 
ever  with  a casual  word  of  adieu. 

About  three  months  later,  however,  Denis  received  a 
letter  with  the  crest  of  the  Oxford  Union  on  its  envelope,  and 
was  greatly  surprised  to  behold  Lenwood’s  handwriting.  On 
the  whole,  Lenwood  seemed  to  be  disappointed  with  Oxford, 
though  he  only  gave  his  impressions  of  its  intellectual  aspect. 
‘ Every  one,  dons  included,  seems  to  live  in  a vicious  circle  of 
notebooks/  he  wrote,  ' and  I find  the  intellectual  horizon 
distinctly  limited.  I am  supposed  to  keep  a time-table  of  my 
lectures  and  to  behave  altogether  as  if  I were  still  at  school. 
The  man  who  utters  German  foolishness  to  me  about  Thucy- 


206 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


dides  pronounces  Greek  in  the  beastly  English  way,  and  the 
man  who  looks  over  my  iambics  judges  them  by  some  obscure 
rule  which  he  learnt  at  Eton  forty  years  ago.  I belong  to 
several  small  debating  societies  which  are  frequented  by 
various  well-meaning  people  with  misty  wits.  My  fellow- 
freshmen  pretend  to  find  the  life  here  very  pleasant,  but  I 
observe  that  they  frequently  seek  oblivion  in  intoxication. 
Jowett  ought  to  have  lived  until  I came  up.'  In  a postscript 
he  added,  * You  must  come  and  stay  here  some  day.  They 
play  adequately  at  the  musical  club,  and  have  programmes 
that  would  please  you.  Personally,  I am  becoming  dissatisfied 
with  all  art/ 

It  was  strange,  Denis  thought,  that  Lenwood  should  write 
to  him  and  that  Rosalind  and  Noel  should  be  perfectly  silent. 
The  invitation  contained  in  the  postscript  seemed  rather  per- 
functory ; Lenwood  surely  knew  that  he  would  be  staying  on 
at  school,  and  that  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  get  away  during 
term.  Rut  when  a second  letter  came  from  Lenwood  which 
repeated  the  invitation,  and  pointed  out  that  the  Oxford 
Easter  vacation  ended  a few  days  before  the  school  summer 
term  began,  it  seemed  to  Denis  just  possible  that  Lenwood 
really  meant  him  to  visit  Oxford.  And  at  length  a letter  came 
which  actually  fixed  a day  for  his  arrival. 

‘ Don't  get  it  into  your  head  that  I can  afford  to  send  you 
there,'  was  Dr.  Yorke’s  only  remark  when  Denis  spoke  of  the 
invitation.  His  former  reverence  for  the  public  school  and 
the  university  had  changed  to  suspicion,  and  he  became  angry 
when  Gabriel  tried  to  prove  that  Denis  was  exactly  the  kind  of 
boy  who  would  derive  immense  benefit  from  a sojourn  of  three 
or  four  years  at  Oxford.  ‘ He  can  go  if  he  wishes,'  said  Dr. 
Yorke,  ‘ but  he  will  have  to  support  himself.  He  has  a small 
sum  which  his  mother  left  for  him  ; in  favourable  years  it 
produces  an  income  of  ninety  pounds.  If  he  can  manage  on 
that  he  can  go.'  Gabriel,  who  had  contrived  to  spend  more 
than  two  thousand  pounds  during  his  four  years  at  Magdalen, 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  thenceforward  avoided  speaking 
of  Oxford  to  Denis.  At  that  time,  however,  Denis  was  only 
just  over  seventeen,  and  was  quite  untroubled  by  thoughts  of 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


20  7 

the  future.  It  was  long  before  the  moment  when  music  be- 
came the  dominant  passion  of  his  life. 

He  stayed  in  Oxford  for  three  days.  Lenwood  could  not 
obtain  a room  in  Balliol  for  him,  and  he  slept  in  an  old  house 
in  St.  Giles's,  the  front  windows  of  which  looked  out  on  the 
great  trees  that  guard  the  gate  of  St.  John's.  He  fell  an  easy 
victim  to  the  spell  of  that  incomparable  city  ; the  first  vision 
of  her  cool  grey  courts,  her  time-worn  towers,  and  her  broad 
meadows  that  gleamed  in  the  vivid  sunshine  of  a kindly  spring, 
seemed  to  initiate  him  into  a life  more  leisured  and  ample  and 
generous  than  any  that  he  could  have  imagined.  Though  he 
was  too  young  as  yet  to  appreciate  the  subtle  contrasts  that 
make  her  unique — the  charm  of  urbane  scholarship  and 
pastoral  leisure  seen,  as  it  were,  hand-in-hand,  the  mellow 
antiquity  of  her  walls  and  the  splendid  youth  that  thronged 
her  streets  and  streams,  the  old  bells  and  the  young  voices, — 
if  he  did  not  perceive  all  this,  at  least  he  was  able  to  feel  some 
of  the  enfolding  glamour  of  her  influence,  to  realise  that  here 
was  a city  whose  memory  could  become  a passion  to  haunt 
men  through  the  world,  in  desert  sands,  in  the  waste  places  of 
the  sea  ; most  of  all,  perhaps,  in  the  sordid  tumult  and  the 
grime  of  London. 

And  Lenwood  cared  for  none  of  these  things  ! He  sat  in 
his  rooms  hemmed  in  by  books,  and  let  the  bright  world  go  by 
without  seeming  even  to  glance  at  its  brimming  splendour. 
Already,  Denis  thought,  he  looked  quite  old  ; he  had  begun 
to  wear  spectacles,  and  his  forehead  protruded  from  beneath 
its  thatch  of  untidy  hair.  He  had  the  peaked  aspect  of  a grow- 
ing creature  that  is  deprived  of  light  and  exercise,  but  he  was 
certainly  as  self-complacent  as  ever.  ‘ It 's  an  absurdly  over- 
rated place,'  he  said,  ‘ but  I can  at  least  lead  my  own  life  here.' 
The  process  did  not  seem  to  have  diminished  his  old  powers 
of  irony,  and  often  he  spoke  in  a tone  of  harsh  bitterness  that 
was  new  to  Denis,  condemning  dons  and  undergraduates  and 
the  whole  system  of  Oxford  with  an  acrid  refinement  of  scorn. 

‘ They  aren't  even  useful  to  me  ! ' he  had  cried  on  one  occasion. 
He  seemed  to  despise  all  the  amenities  of  life  ; his  rooms  were 
sparsely  and  dingily  furnished,  and  nothing  hung  on  the  walls 


208 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


but  bookcases  and  a couple  of  photographs  of  archaic  Greek 
statues.  He  seemed  to  have  very  few  acquaintances  ; a few 
somewhat  dismal  persons  came  into  his  room  one  evening  ; 
they  were  pallid,  and  Denis  imagined  that  they  were  not 
fervent  apostles  of  cleanliness  ; they  treated  Lenwood  with 
great  deference,  and  talked  about  the  obscurity  of  Greek 
writers  and  the  simplicity  of  Oxford  tutors.  They  were  very 
learned,  thought  Denis,  but  they  too  obviously  regarded  them- 
selves as  a peculiar  people,  and  their  display  of  their  own 
qualities  seemed  to  contain  a sneer  at  the  defects  of  every 
one  else.  They  drank  large  quantities  of  coffee,  wore  black 
leather  slippers,  and  scarcely  spoke  to  Denis.  He  liked  one 
of  them  better  than  the  rest,  a man  with  restless  eyes  and  a 
strained  white  face  who  knew  something  of  music.  This 
person,  Lenwood  informed  him  afterwards,  was  a ‘ celebrated 
anarchist  and  atheist.'  The  catchword  of  the  band  was  ' the 
herd/  a phrase  which  reached  his  ears  repeatedly.  He 
discovered  at  length  that  it  was  intended  to  connote  all  the 
rest  of  the  world,  including,  presumably,  himself.  On  the 
whole,  the  band  of  sages  was  not  exhilarating,  but  it  interested 
him  ; it  was  unlike  any  clique  he  had  known  at  school.  Len- 
wood seemed  to  be  their  leader  ; had  he  actually  gathered 
them  together  ? Surely  all  the  people  in  Oxford  were  not  as 
old  and  wise  and  bitter  as  these  strange  monsters  ? Could 
people  really  be  wise  and  bitter  at  the  same  time  ? 

Some  of  these  doubts  were  dispelled  on  the  following  day, 
when  he  met  the  grand  Arbuthnot  in  the  High.  Arbuthnot 
had  been  kind  to  him  at  school,  with  the  kindness  that  a 
good-natured  god  displays  towards  a caterpillar  which  happens 
to  crawl  into  his  view,  but  now  his  attitude  was  quite  different ; 
he  was  tremendously  genial,  walked  arm-in-arm  with  Denis, 
talking  about  the  school,  and  invited  him  to  luncheon.  The 
college  of  which  Arbuthnot  was  a member  was  on  the  right- 
hand  side  of  the  High  Street  as  you  go  towards  Magdalen,  and 
had  a long  fa$ade  of  gabled  grey  stone  and  a porch  thronged 
with  idle  and  beflannelled  men  who  all  seemed  to  be  his  friends. 
He  led  Denis  to  a room  full  of  deep  armchairs  and  photographs 
and  innumerable  athletic  trophies — cups  and  oars  and  a 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


209 


strange,  unimaginable  object  which  proved  to  be  part  of  a 
famous  boat  in  which  Arbuthnot  had  rowed.  He  deposited  an 
enormous  silver  cigarette-box  in  Denis's  lap,  and  went  out  to 
order  luncheon  and  to  compel  some  guests  to  come  in,  returning 
in  a very  short  time  with  half  a dozen  men,  who  were  solemnly 
introduced  to  ‘ Mr.  Yorke,  an  old  school- friend  of  mine.' 

The  luncheon  was  a most  hilarious  affair  with  an  ending 
that  was  tragic  for  Denis.  The  guests  were  tremendously  at 
ease,  but  they  treated  Denis  with  great  deference,  and  though 
the  majority  of  them  were  athletes,  they  talked  with  good 
sense  on  a variety  of  subjects.  Two  of  them — an  amusing 
exquisite  with  an  eyeglass,  called  Tomlinson,  and  a gentle, 
dreamy-faced  person  whom  every  one  called  Graham — were,  as 
Denis  discovered  almost  too  late,  enthusiastic  musicians,  and 
played  a ridiculous  duet  on  a very  bad  piano.  Port,  explained 
Arbuthnot,  had  been  poured  into  the  piano  to  make  it  mellow, 
but  in  vain.  At  the  end  of  an  hour  Denis  felt  that  he  knew 
them  all  intimately — Stenning,  a large  man  who  adored 
Napoleon,  but  addressed  you  with  a courtly  manner  which 
belonged  to  an  earlier  dynasty  than  that  of  his  idol ; Warrand, 
a Scot  with  a funny,  precise  trick  of  speech  and  humorous  eyes  ; 
and  Langley,  a gaunt,  loquacious  person  who  lolled  like  a 
tired  snake  and  was  suspected  of  being  literary. 

They  were  certainly  very  unlike  the  people  he  had  met  on 
the  previous  evening  ! Denis  wished  that  Lenwood  knew 
them  ; they  would  do  him  good— if  they  didn't  fall  upon  him 
and  annihilate  him  as  a pedant  and  a prig.  When  Denis  told 
Arbuthnot  that  he  was  staying  with  Lenwood,  Arbuthnot 
grinned. 

‘ He 's  too  lofty  for  me,'  he  said.  ‘ He  cuts  me  dead  in  the 
street,  and  when  I gave  a wine  to  all  the  men  from  the  school 
and  sent  him  an  invitation,  he  didn't  deign  to  answer  it.  Give 
him  my  love  and  tell  him  that  I worship  him  from  afar.' 

‘ Lenwood,'  cried  some  one,  ‘ isn't  he  the  man  who  made  a 
speech  at  the  Union  in  his  first  term  about  reforming  the 
'Varsity  ? He  made  all  the  dons  as  sick  as  dogs.  But  he 's 
supposed  to  be  the  hottest  scholar  they 've  had  at  Balliol  for 
ages.' 


o 


210 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


1 And  the  damnedest  worm/  said  Arbuthnot  cheerfully. 
‘ Sorry,  Yorke  ; but  you  know  I never  could  stick  him/  And 
Denis  thought  of  his  first  meeting  with  Lenwood.  4 I say  ! ' 
Arbuthnot  went  on, 4 who  do  you  think  I saw  last  January  ? I 
went  over  to  Paris  to  play  against  a French  club — awfully 
keen  lot,  but  didn't  know  the  game,  of  course — and  as  I was 
coming  off  the  ground  who  should  turn  up  but  old  Boosey  ! ' 

4 Noel ! ' cried  Denis,  so  that  they  all  stared  at  him.  4 Do 
tell  me  about  him  ! ' 

4 He  hadn't  altered  a bit,  really,'  said  Arbuthnot ; 4 but  he 
was  a little  thinner  and  had  a beastly  beard  like  Frenchmen 
wear,  all  fluffy  and  yellow,  like  a man  in  amateur  theatricals. 
We  dined  together  a night  or  two  afterwards  at  a funny  little 
place  across  the  river,  full  of  extraordinary  ruffians  in  velvet 
suits  and  bedizened  Jezebels  with  hungry  eyes.  Afterwards 
we  went  to  his  room  ; he  lives  in  an  attic  about  five  stories  up, 
and  teaches  English  all  day  to  Frenchmen,  and  works  at  sing- 
ing and  painting.  He  always  was  a bit  of  a singer,  wasn't  he  ? 
It 's  funny  to  think  of  old  Boosey  all  alone  there  looking  out 
over  Paris.  But  he 's  making  money  and  seems  pretty  gay. 
He  was  awfully  cut  up  by  his  uncle's  death,  though.  Have  a 
glass  of  sherry  ? ' 

4 No,  thanks,'  said  Denis.  The  circle  of  faces  swam  before 
his  eyes  ; he  could  scarcely  trust  himself  to  speak.  One  of  the 
guests  who  had  been  at  the  school  began  to  tell  anecdotes  of 
Noel,  and  this  gave  him  time  to  recover  from  the  first  shock. 
Mr.  Duroy  dead  ! It  was  impossible,  it  must  have  been  some 
other  uncle  of  Noel’s.  But  he  did  not  dare  to  question 
Arbuthnot,  and  sat  for  the  rest  of  luncheon  trying  somewhat 
unsuccessfully  to  join  in  the  jests  and  laughter  of  the  others. 

The  company  dispersed  very  soon  afterwards,  having 
showered  invitations  on  him  which  he  was  obliged  to  decline, 
for  he  was  returning  to  school  on  the  following  day.  Arbuth- 
not was  going  down  to  the  river,  and  Denis  walked  with  him 
through  Christ  Church  meadows  to  the  College  Barge.  During 
the  walk  Arbuthnot  told  him  all  that  he  knew. 

4 His  uncle  died  a month  or  two  after  Boosey  left,'  he  said. 

4 He  was  in  Switzerland  with  his  little  girl,  and — I don't  know 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


21  I 


exactly  what  happened,  but  I think  they  got  into  a dangerous 
place,  and  the  rope  wouldn’t  support  them  both,  and  to  save 
her  he  cut  himself  loose  and  was  killed.  Boosey  wouldn’t  talk 
much  about  it.  It  was  the  beastly  guide’s  fault,  I believe.’ 

Denis  could  say  nothing.  The  bright  green  of  the  meadows 
danced  up  and  down  before  his  eyes  and  the  path  seemed  to 
rise  and  strike  his  feet.  Arbuthnot  continued  to  speak. 

* The  little  girl  was  ill  for  ages — grief  and  the  shock,  you 
know — but  she  recovered.  For  months  she  couldn’t  bear  to  see 
any  one  who  reminded  her  of  him.  Some  American  people 
who  were  staying  in  the  hotel  at  the  time  nursed  her,  and  when 
she  was  better  took  her  away  with  them  on  a voyage.  Boosey 
heard  nothing  of  her  for  nearly  two  years,  but  he  had  had  a 
letter  not  long  before  I saw  him.  She  was  in  America  then. 
You  remember  her,  don’t  you  ? The  jolly  little  girl  that 
every  one  ragged  me  about  because  she  came  across  the 
Pavilion  Field  to  meet  me  that  day  when  we  were  playing 
the  Wanderers.’ 

‘ Yes,  I remember  her,’  said  Denis. 

4 Boosey  would  tell  you  all  about  it,’  Arbuthnot  continued. 
4 Unluckily,  I ’ve  lost  his  address,  and  the  old  rotter  never 
writes.  I ’ll  try  and  get  it,  and  send  it  to  you.  Well,  here ’s 
the  Barge,  and  I must  go  in  and  change.  See  you  next  term 
if  I come  down  with  the  ’Varsity  A Team.  Give  my  love  to 
old  Lister  and  all  the  rest  of  ’em.’ 

Denis  wandered  about  the  meadows  for  an  hour,  and  at 
length  found  his  way  into  the  botanical  gardens  and  sat 
beneath  an  unknown  species  of  tree  that  was  laden  with  white 
blossom.  He  was  still  half  stunned  by  Arbuthnot’s  piece  of 
news  ; surely,  after  all,  it  was  unfounded ; surely  it  was 
impossible  that  Mr.  Duroy,  of  all  people,  slept  for  ever  in  the 
depth  of  some  crevasse,  with  the  laughter  hushed  on  his  lips, 
and  his  kind  eyes  glazed  and  sightless  ! It  had  been  impossible 
even  to  imagine  him  grown  old.  . . . But  Arbuthnot  had 
heard  the  story  from  Noel, — and  there  was  Rosalind’s  silence. 
...  It  was  true  ; there  was  no  gleam  of  hope  left,  unless  his 
own  senses  had  played  him  false.  He  stared  blankly  at  the 
meadows,  and  knew  the  dull  wonder  of  a troubled  soul  which 


212 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


almost  expects  the  great,  indifferent  Nature  to  assume  an 
aspect  that  may  harmonise  with  its  grief.  Some  men  in 
flannels  passed  him,  talking  gaily.  The  birds  were  singing 
deliciously  in  the  trees  by  the  Cher  well. 

Gradually  his  thoughts  veered  towards  Rosalind.  He  tried 
to  picture  her  life  for  the  weeks  that  succeeded  the  dreadful 
event  on  the  mountain — alone,  in  a strange^country,  with  that 
scene  always  haunting  her  whether  her  eyes  were  open  or 
closed.  If  only  he  had  known  ; if  only  he  could  have  gone  to 
her  and  comforted  her  ! If  he  had  heard  the  news  when  he 
was  at  school,  he  would  have  left  instantly  and  contrived  by 
some  means  to  reach  Switzerland,  he  knew. 

The  fact  that  the  tragedy  had  happened  nearly  three  years 
before  seemed  to  deduct  nothing  from  the  poignancy  of  his  grief. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  he  rose  from  the  seat  in 
the  gardens  and  walked  slowly  to  the  long  bridge  above  the 
Cherwell.  Far  above  him  the  arrowy  vanes  of  the  lovely 
tower  shone  like  burnished  gold  against  the  intense  blue  of  the 
sky,  and  the  cluster  of  grey  buildings  that  overhung  the  river 
seemed  more  like  the  palace  of  some  pensive  king  who  had 
forsaken  the  world  to  live  in  dreams  than  the  temporary 
lodging  of  athletic  and  tumultuous  youth.  And  suddenly,  in 
the  midst  of  his  sorrow — though  he  hardly  realised  it  then — 
the  beauty  of  Oxford  was  wholly  revealed  to  him  : the  sight  of 
her  tranquil  loveliness  fell  like  healing  dew  on  the  feverish 
drought  of  his  pain  : there  was  actual  consolation  in  the  great 
curve  of  her  matchless  street  with  its  fairy  spires  and  grim 
battlements.  He  walked  towards  Balliol  through  the  Rad- 
cliffe  square,  vaguely  conscious  that  a new  sensation,  which 
was  distinct  from  sorrow  and  yet  was  born  of  it,  had  invaded 
his  life.  There  are  some  happy  persons  to  whom  beauty  is 
revealed  through  joy  alone.  Denis  was  not  one  of  these  ; the 
deeper  initiation  of  pain  was  needed  to  quicken  his  instinctive 
passion  for  all  that  was  lovely. 

Mr.  Duroy  would  have  smiled  if  he  could  have  known  that 
even  his  death  was  to  be  a factor  in  the  development  of  an 
artist. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


213 


XXIV 

THE  memory  of  Oxford  became  sacred  to  him,  because  it 
was  there  that  he  had  endured  those  long  hours  of 
lonely  grief,  and  found  that  sudden  and  indefinable  consolation. 
But  though  the  place  had  assumed  this  vivid  significance  in 
his  thoughts,  he  did  not  begin  to  dream  that  he  might  become 
part  of  its  life  until  some  time  after  his  conversation  with  the 
Professor.  One  evening,  in  his  study,  there  was  a furious 
argument  as  to  the  relative  merits  of  certain  colleges  to  which 
the  various  disputants  were  destined  to  belong,  and  as  he 
listened  to  it  he  was  conscious  of  a thrill  of  envy.  ‘ It  doesn't 
seem  to  me  to  matter  what  college  you  go  to,'  he  had  said, 
‘ so  long  as  you  ’re  in  Oxford.’ 

This  remark  brought  a volley  of  dissent  about  his  ears. 

‘ Why  don’t  you  go  up,  Yorke  ? ’ said  some  one  when  the 
storm  had  subsided.  ‘ You  ’re  just  the  man  for  the  ’Varsity. 
You ’ve  got  culchaw.  You  aren’t  good  enough  for  a classical 
schol.  at  any  of  the  best  colleges,  but  they  might  give  you 
an  exhibition  for  playing  the  harmonium  or  something.’ 

Denis  meditated  over  this  airy  suggestion  as  gravely  as 
if  it  were  the  oracle  of  Apollo  himself,  and  the  more  he  con- 
sidered it,  the  more  assured  he  became  of  its  wisdom.  He 
consulted  Mr.  Lister,  who  was  unexpectedly  sympathetic,  and 
he  wrote  to  Lenwood.  The  sage’s  reply  was  brief.  ‘ If  you 
are  going  to  be  a musician  you  had  better  go  and  live  on  brown 
bread  and  onions  in  a German  garret.  This  place  is  no  good  to 
artists.  Every  don  in  it  who  gives  a lecture  on  the  Poetics 
thinks  that  he ’s  ipso  facto  a critic  of  every  kind  of  art,  and  the 
aesthete  is  even  now  rampant  amongst  undergraduates.  No 
one  is  so  inartistic  as  an  aesthete,  or  so  depressing  to  real 
artists.  Go  to  a place  where  every  one  is  struggling,  and 
struggle  with  them.  Avoid  anything  academic  as  you  would 
avoid  hell.’ 


214 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


But  what,  after  all,  did  dons  and  aesthetes  matter,  thought 
Denis,  if  one  could  work  at  music  in  that  lovely  town,  and 
wander  through  that  dreamy  country  ? One  could  live  one's 
own  appropriate  life  anywhere,  even  at  school,  even — though 
it  was  difficult — in  the  Red  House  ; how  much  easier  it  would 
be  at  Oxford  ! There  was  only  one  existence  that  would  be 
better,  and  that  was  to  live  with  Noel  in  Paris  ; but  Noel  had 
never  written  ; no  one  had  any  notion  of  his  whereabouts,  and 
Rosalind  had  vanished  as  completely  as  her  cousin.  Eighteen 
months  had  passed  since  Denis  had  seen  Arbuthnot  at  Oxford, 
and  there  was  still  no  news.  Arbuthnot,  who  returned  fre- 
quently to  the  school,  told  him  that  he  had  hunted  high  and 
low  in  Paris  for  the  vanished  one,  but  without  success,  and  he 
had  concluded  that  Noel  must  be  performing  his  period  of 
military  service  in  some  distant  garrison  town. 

So  Denis  decided  to  go  to  Oxford.  The  prospect  relieved 
the  melancholy  of  his  last  days  at  school,  when  the  grim 
buildings  suddenly  assumed  a real  beauty,  and  faces  to  which 
he  had  been  indifferent  for  five  years  became  strangely  and 
uncomfortably  attractive.  Yet  though  he  was  depressed  at 
the  moment  of  leaving,  the  depression  could  not  last  very  long  ; 
the  world  was  all  before  him,  and  he  knew  that  he  would  be 
sorry — not  at  the  time,  but  later — if  he  was  obliged  to  pass 
another  year  in  that  so  familiar  precinct.  He  was  over  nine- 
teen, and  had  stayed  there  longer  than  the  greater  part  of  his 
friends. 

He  took  leave  of  the  headmaster  and  Mr.  Lister  with  sincere 
regret.  The  former,  who  had  grown  thinner  and  greyer  and 
looked  more  like  a Roman  tribune  than  ever,  spoilt  the 
occasion  by  assuming  an  official  manner,  and  talked  to  him  of 
the  necessity  of  having  a fixed  purpose  in  life — as  if  Denis 
needed  any  exhortations  of  that  kind  ! The  latter  barked  at 
him  as  usual.  ‘ I never  thought,  my  person,'  he  said,  ‘ that 
you  would  turn  out  a decent  member  of  society,  but  somehow 
you  've  managed  it  in  spite  of  belonging  to  the  slackest  and 
worst-behaved  house  in  the  school.  Oh  yes  ! I know  what 
you  're  going  to  say,  we  are  Cock  House  as  usual,  and  Phillips 
got  his  racquet  pair  and  Tonks  won  the  Divinity  Prize,  but  I 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


215 


don't  care,  my  person,  the  general  spirit  in  the  house,'  and  so 
on.  He  paid  Denis  no  more  compliments,  but  wrung  his  hand 
fiercely,  and  his  queer  black  eyes  told  him  plainly  all  that  was 
left  unsaid — that  he  regretted  his  going,  and  was  glad  to  have 
known  hirn,  and  if  he  could  ever  find  time  to  write  to  a poor, 
old,  affectionate,  irascible  schoolmaster,  his  letter  would  be 
welcome.  Finally  he  presented  him  with  a meerschaum  pipe, 
the  vapours  of  which  diabolical  invention  nearly  caused 
Denis's  sudden  demise  in  a railway  carriage  two  days  later. 

The  old  Professor  said  farewell  to  him  with  deep,  though 
gruff,  affection.  ‘ You  are  the  only  boy  whom  I have  ever  got 
to  know  here,'  he  said,  ‘ and  I don't  suppose  there  will  be 
another.  I am  growing  old  and  bad-tempered,  and  come 
what  may,  I will  not  have  the  window  open  in  my  teaching- 
room  during  a lesson.  These  young  barbarians  seem  to  think 
that  air  is  not  air  when  it  is  within  four  walls.  They  complain 
always  in  impertinent  language.  God  be  with  you,  my  son. 
You  will  succeed,  I believe  ; better  still,  you  will  always  strive. 
You  have  the  essential  enthusiasm.  But  beware  ! Beware  of 
Mammon.  He  lurks  to  devour  young  men  of  talent,  and  he  is 
a combination  of  a financier,  and  a concert  director,  and  a 
publisher,  and  a piano-manufacturer,  and  a writer  of  evil 
ballads,  and  a dam  rascal.  He  will  take  you  by  the  throat 
and  squeeze  you  dry,  paying  you  a large  monthly  salary.  I 
shall  think  of  you  when  you  are  gone,  and  I shall  play  the 
Lebewohl  in  your  memory.  Don't  forget  the  exercises  for  the 
little  finger  of  the  left  hand  and  do  not  compose  an  oratorio. 
Good-bye,  my  dear  boy ! ' and  for  one  ghastly  moment  Denis 
thought  that  the  Professor  was  about  to  hug  him. 

When  he  arrived  at  the  Red  House  Dr.  Yorke  came  into  the 
hall  to  meet  him.  The  boy  was  as  tall  as  his  father  now,  and 
straight  and  lissom  as  a young  poplar.  He  was  still  inclined 
to  be  pale,  but  it  was  a healthy  pallor  ; observing  it,  you 
divined  that  there  was  temperate  blood  beneath  the  clear, 
delicate  skin.  In  spite  of  the  military  methods  of  the  school 
barber,  a dark  plume  of  hair  was  always  curving  downwards 
over  his  square  forehead,  and  his  upper  lip  was  adorned  with  a 


216 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


well-defined  line  of  black.  The  nervous  corners  of  his  mouth 
seemed  oddly  at  variance  with  the  usual  aspect  of  his  eyes, 
which  were  dreamy  ; their  pupils  were  often  extremely  dilated 
— a peculiarity  which  lent  a certain  hardness  to  his  expression. 
Dr.  Yorke  had  grown  very  grey  in  the  last  two  years  ; his 
heavy  shoulders  had  contracted,  so  that  he  appeared  always  to 
be  making  an  effort  to  draw  his  head  backwards  as  far  as 
possible,  and  his  air  of  worried  suspicion  of  everything  in 
general  was  accentuated  by  the  deep  lines  about  his  mouth 
and  eyes. 

He  shook  hands  with  Denis — they  had  regained  this  stage 
of  intimacy — and  went  with  him  into  the  study. 

‘ The  afternoon  train  was  a little  late/  he  said  as  he  sat 
down  by  his  writing-table.  Even  from  the  tone  of  this  very 
commonplace  remark  Denis  was  able  to  realise  that  something 
had  happened — that  Dr.  Yorke  had  for  some  reason  modified 
his  attitude.  The  boy  was  on  his  guard  at  once. 

‘ I didn’t  notice/  he  said  shortly.  Dr.  Yorke  fumbled  with 
a small  pair  of  scales  that  stood  on  the  table,  opened  his  lips  to 
speak,  looked  at  Denis,  and  then  closed  them.  Denis  stared 
at  the  ugly  pictures  that  darkened  the  walls. 

‘ So  your  school  life  is  over/  said  Dr.  Yorke.  4 I suppose 
you  ’re  sorry.’ 

‘ I am  just  now,’  answered  Denis,  4 but  I shan’t  be  in  a week 
or  two.  I ’ve  had  more  than  five  years  there.’ 

Dr.  Yorke  cleared  his  throat. 

‘ I ’ve  been  thinking  things  over  lately,’  he  said.  ' I ’ve 
looked  at  your  reports  for  the  last  two  or  three  years — I didn’t 
bother  about  them  when  they  came — and  I ’ve  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  perhaps  I ’ve  been  a little  hard  on  you.  You 
have  done  very  well  at  school ; I see  that  you  have  been  in  the 
Sixth  form  for  nearly  two  years,  and  that  you  have  taken 
various  prizes  for  music.  You  never  told  me  about  them.  I 
was  quite  convinced  that  you  would  do  no  good,  but  I see  now 
that  I was  wrong,  and  I acknowledge  my  mistake.’ 

His  voice  took  on  its  old  tone  of  rather  unctuous  condescen- 
sion. He  was  beginning,  Denis  knew,  to  admire  his  own 
magnanimity.  The  boy  grew  more  and  more  uncomfortable. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


217 


‘ We  ’ve  been  like  strangers  for  more  than  three  years/  said 
Dr.  Yorke.  ‘ I dare  say  you  thought  I was  very  stern,  but  it 
was  as  hard  for  me  as  for  you,  and  you  never  gave  me  a chance 
of  forgiving  you.  You  were  always  going  off  with  some  one 
just  when  I was  ready  to  make  it  up.  I used  to  think  that  I 
didn't  care  what  became  of  you — and  I didn’t,  but  now  it  is 
different.  You  ’re  grown  up,  and  you  ’ve  made  a success  of 
your  school  life.  And,  after  all,’  he  added  with  a little  nervous 
laugh,  ‘ you  ’re  my  son.’ 

Denis  clasped  and  unclasped  his  fingers  convulsively. 

‘ I was  your  son  all  the  time,’  he  said.  f Do  fathers  only 
treat  sons  like  sons  when  they  ’re  successful  ? ’ 

Dr.  Yorke  stared  at  him  for  a moment. 

‘ Well,  I admit  you  have  a grievance  against  me,’  he  said  ; 
* but  you  must  admit  that  I had  one  against  you  as  well.  I 
fed  you  and  clothed  you  and  paid  for  your  education  when 
you  were  defying  me  by  every  means  in  your  power.  You 
owe  me  thanks  for  that,  just  as  I owe  you  an  apology  for 
having  imagined  that  you  were  going  to  the  bad.  You 
thought  I was  unkind  and  I thought  you  were  wicked.  We 
were  both  wrong,  I admit  that.’ 

It  all  seemed  very  sordid  to  Denis,  and  very  illogical.  He 
waited  in  silence,  wondering  what  was  behind  this  sudden 
move  of  his  father.  He  was  soon  to  find  out. 

‘ Gabriel  Searle  and  I have  talked  it  over  many  times,’  Dr. 
Yorke  continued  ; ‘ for  a long  while  it  seemed  to  me  that  he 
only  took  your  side,  but  lately  I have  begun  to  agree  with  him 
that  my  attitude  too  has  been — a — unchristian.  When  I read 
your  reports  I realised  that  you  had  honestly  and  patiently 
made  amends  for  your  folly — Gabriel  was  strong  on  that 
point — and  that  I should  be  wrong  to  continue  punishing  you 
any  longer.  You  aren’t  a child  now.’ 

4 I wish  Gabriel  would  mind  his  own  business  ! ’ said  Denis. 

‘ You  are  a grown-up  man,’  continued  Dr.  Yorke  imperturb- 
ably, ‘ about  to  make  your  way  in  the  world.  You  must  face 
the  realities  of  life.’ 

It  seemed  to  Denis  that  an  utterly  unreal  atmosphere 
enveloped  him  each  time  that  his  father  spoke.  A feeling  of 


218 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


hopeless  depression  overwhelmed  him  ; all  power  of  thought 
or  action  departed  as  he  listened  to  that  interminable  harangue. 
Why  in  the  world  had  his  father  veered  round  in  this  way  ? It 
was  sentimental,  it  was  useless  ; the  old  state  of  affairs  would 
begin  again  as  soon  as  he  did  anything  which  earned  Dr. 
Yorke's  disapproval.  It  was  a move  that  baffled  him  com- 
pletely. Dr.  Yorke  added  to  his  amazement  by  rising  from 
his  chair  and  coming  towards  him. 

4 Shake  hands,  Denis/  he  said,  in  a thrilling  voice  that 
jarred  on  every  nerve  which  Denis  possessed.  The  boy 
obeyed,  staring  with  wide  eyes  at  his  father.  This  ceremony 
accomplished,  Dr.  Yorke  sat  down  with  a sigh  of  relief. 

4 Now  we  can  talk  like  man  to  man/  he  said.  4 You  know, 
Denis,  I used  to  say  that  you  could  do  what  you  liked,  and  go 
where  you  liked,  and  become  what  you  liked,  and  I shouldn't 
care  ; but  lately  I have  realised  that  I was  wrong.  I left  you 
to  yourself,  and  providentially  you  didn't  make  a mess  of  your 
life,  but  I feel  that  I owe  you  some  restitution.  I thought  over 
this  for  some  time.  44  The  boy,”  I said  to  myself,  44  has  got 
brains  and  must  earn  his  living.  The  thing  is  for  him  to  start 
at  once  in  some  profession  : he  can’t  do  this  alone,  I must  do 
it  for  him.”  So  I have  arranged  for  you  to  start  next  month 
with  Mr.  Boulter.' 

4 Mr.  Boulter  ? ' cried  Denis,  aghast.  4 Do  you  mean 
Boulter  the  lawyer  in  Wychcombe  ? ' 

4 Yes,'  said  Dr.  Yorke.  4 I have  arranged  for  you  to  be 
articled  to  him  for  five  years.  I shall  pay  all  the  expenses 
myself,  and  shall  not  touch  the  little  sum  that  comes  to  you 
when  you  are  twenty-one.  It  is  imperative  that  you  should 
make  an  income,  and  as  a solicitor,  with  your  brains  you  ought 
to  be  doing  that  long  before  you  are  thirty.  You  will  be  able 
to  become  a managing  clerk.' 

Denis  contemplated  this  alluring  prospect  with  ears  that 
were  absolutely  horror-stricken.  His  tongue  seemed  to  be 
paralysed  ; he  gasped  for  breath. 

4 It  is  an  exceptionally  good  opening  for  you,'  went  on  Dr. 
Yorke.  4 Mr.  Boulter  almost  promised  that  if  you  did  well  you 
would  be  able  to  stay  with  the  firm  as  a salaried  clerk  after  you 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


219 

had  served  your  articles.  So  there  you  are,  settled  for  life  ! , 
concluded  Dr.  Yorke  with  arch  heaviness. 

Denis  rose  abruptly  from  his  chair. 

1 It  's  all  nonsense  ! ' he  cried.  ‘ I don't  want  to  be  a 
lawyer  ; I 'm  not  going  to  be  one.  I want  to  go  to  Oxford  and 
be  a musician.  I’ma  musician  already  ; the  music-master  at 
school  said  so,  and  he 's  a German,  and  used  to  be  a friend  of 
Brahms,  so  he  ought  to  know.' 

Dr.  Yorke's  smile  turned  sour. 

4 Perhaps  he  doesn't  know,'  he  said  ominously,  ‘ that  you 
are  absolutely  dependent  on  me  until  you  are  twenty-one,  and 
that  then  you  will  have  the  large  income  of  seventy  pounds  a 
year  of  your  own.  Please  don't  imagine  that  I am  going  to 
support  you  in  luxury  and  idleness  whilst  you  wile  away  odd 
moments  by  strumming  a piano  in  a half-empty  hall  or  com- 
pose silly  songs  exactly  like  those  that  a hundred  other  men 
are  doing  rather  better.  As  for  the  University,  you  can  put 
that  out  of  your  head  altogether.  You  are  the  last  person  I 
should  dream  of  sending  there.  If  you  can  get  a scholarship 
when  you  are  twenty-one  you  can  do  as  you  please,  but  I don’t 
imagine  that  there  is  any  prospect  of  that.  Till  then  please 
remember  that  you  are  absolutely  in  my  power.  By  law,  I 
can  do  as  I like  with  you,  and  I order  you  to  go  into  Mr. 
Boulter's  office.  You  will  live  to  thank  me  for  it.' 

‘ I don't  think  so,'  said  Denis.  He  sat  down  again,  and  still 
stared  amazedly  at  his  father.  There  was  grim  reality  in  Dr. 
Yorke's  accents  now,  at  any  rate  ! Denis  felt  that  he  was 
cornered  ; he  had  no  money  of  his  own,  and  no  loophole  of 
escape  presented  itself  to  his  hunted  soul.  Meanwhile,  Dr. 
Yorke  proceeded  to  elaborate  the  point  which  he  had  made. 

‘ You  are  old  enough  now  for  me  to  speak  frankly  to  you/ 
he  said.  ‘ You  probably  know  that  I am  over  sixty,  and 
that  the  practice  is  a very  poor  one  and  has  not  improved 
during  the  last  few  years.  If  I make  four  or  five  hundred  a 
year  I think  myself  lucky.  There  seems  no  possibility  of 
things  getting  better,  and  though  I have  fairly  good  health, 
I find  the  work  increasingly  difficult.  I shall  have  nothing  to 
leave  you,  and  there  is  every  prospect  of  my  having  to  pass  the 


220 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


last  years  of  my  life  in  poverty.  The  money  that  I should 
have  saved  has  been  spent  on  your  education.  I am  sorry  to 
have  to  say  this,  but  I hope  you  see  now  that  it  is  absolutely 
imperative  for  you  to  take  this  chance — to  enter  a profession 
at  once.  You  owe  it,  I mean,  to  me  as  well  as  to  yourself.’ 

Always  these  phrases  ! Denis  listened  to  them  with  an 
expression  of  sullen  misery.  His  father’s  exposition  of  their 
financial  prospects  seemed  to  blunt  the  edge  of  every  weapon 
in  his  armoury  of  defiance.  The  vague  and  lovely  shapes  of 
all  his  musical  ambitions  dissolved  before  his  eyes,  and  in  their 
stead  he  saw  the  bleak  face  of  Duty,  an  awful  beldame  whose 
soul  was  set  on  money,  money  at  any  cost,  and  whose  gnarled 
hands  held  the  throat  of  his  hope  in  their  deadly  grip.  He 
thought  bitterly  of  the  old  Professor’s  warning.  Here,  indeed, 
was  an  obstacle  that  he  had  neglected  to  prophesy  ! 

‘ If  you  work  hard,’  continued  Dr.  Yorke,  ‘ you  will  probably 
be  earning  at  least  two  hundred  a year  by  the  time  you  are 
twenty-six.  Not  many  young  fellows  whose  fathers  are  poor 
men  have  such  a good  prospect.  I trust  Boulter’s  word 
implicitly,  I know  he  will  do  his  best  for  you.  Of  course  he  is 
not  quite  a gentleman,  but  he  is  a thoroughly  honourable  man 
of  business.  He  is  connected  with  a first-rate  London  firm, 
and  you  will  be  able  to  pass  the  last  year  of  your  articles  in 
their  office.  I ’ve  no  doubt  this  is  all  rather  a surprise  to  you, 
but  very  soon  you  ’ll  find  out  that  there  is  no  blessing  in  life 
like  a regular  occupation.  By  the  time  you  are  thirty  you 
will  be  practising  on  your  own  account,  and  making  an  income 
large  enough  to  support  a wife  and  family.’ 

Dr.  Yorke  paused  as  if  to  gloat  over  this  dazzling  vision 
of  future  prosperity.  It  brought  no  comfort  to  the  soul  of 
Denis  ; the  boy  stared  at  the  Landseer  prints — those  un- 
sympathetic spectators  of  so  many  dreary  scenes — and  looked 
as  if  he  had  shrunk  physically  in  the  last  few  minutes. 

‘ People  sometimes  make  money  at  music,’  he  said  at  last, 
quite  feebly. 

‘ Not  until  they ’ve  borrowed  extremely  freely  from  their 
friends  and  relations,’  retorted  Dr.  Yorke.  4 My  boy,  you 
must  put  the  thought  of  music  as  a profession  out  of  your 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


221 


head  altogether.  I 've  no  objection  to  your  keeping  it  up 
after  office  hours  ; it  will  be  an  agreeable  relaxation — though 
of  course  you  will  have  to  read  for  your  examinations  in  the 
evening  ; but  you  must  look  on  life  from  a practical  point  of 
view.  You  wouldn't  like  to  see  your  father  spending  his  last 
years  in  poverty  just  because  you  insisted  on  gratifying  an 
elegant  taste  instead  of  settling  down  to  the  serious  business 
of  life  ? That 's  the  way  to  look  at  it, — that 's  the  way  you 
will  look  at  it,  if  you  're  the  man  of  sense  that  I think  you 
are.' 

Dr.  Yorke  looked  as  if  he  expected  that  Denis  wTould  be 
immensely  gratified  by  being  called  a man,  but  Denis  did  not 
seem  to  notice  the  compliment.  A strained  silence  followed 
it  ; Dr.  Yorke  played  with  the  scales,  and  Denis  stared  out  of 
the  window.  So  this  was  duty  ! To  renounce  everything 
that  made  life  splendid,  to  give  up  doing  the  one  thing  that  you 
felt  you  could  and  must  do,  and  to  set  your  affections  on  money, 
money,  money  ! One  might  as  well  be  dead  ; the  only  conso- 
lation was  that  one  probably  would  be,  very  soon  ; life  couldn't 
go  on  under  such  intolerable  conditions.  And  this  Duty  was 
inevitable  ; there  was  no  possible  chance  of  escape  ; he  was 
completely  in  his  father’s  power,  and  his  father  knew  it, 
betraying  the  knowledge  in  that  exasperating,  unctuous  accent. 
‘ Stem  daughter  of  the  voice  of  God  ' — that  was  the  phrase 
applied  to  Duty  by  a poet  whom  he  loved.  Of  God,  indeed  ! 
Stern  daughter  of  the  voice  of  Dr.  Yorke  seemed  nearer 
the  truth.  Oh,  he  was  cornered  ! The  family  finances,  his 
father's  hint  of  approaching  weakness — everything  combined 
to  hem  him  in  ; it  was  impossible  even  to  protest  against  these 
unfair  yet  unanswerable  arguments.  His  father  held  every 
trump  card  in  the  pack.  He  rose,  looking  dazed,  and  spoke 
in  a voice  which  sounded  strange  to  his  own  ears. 

4 I 'll  go  and  get  out  my  things,'  he  said. 

‘ That 's  right ! ' cried  Dr.  Yorke  genially.  ‘ Have  you 
brought  back  lots  of  new  music  ? ' 

Denis  uttered  a stifled  exclamation  and  hurried  out  of  the 
room.  Dr.  Yorke  smiled,  cleared  his  throat  several  times,  and 
then  wrote  a letter  to  the  imminent  Boulter. 


222 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


Formerly,  it  had  been  Denis's  custom  to  visit  Gabriel  on  the 
first  day  of  the  holidays,  but  this  time  he  allowed  a fortnight  to 
pass  without  going  to  see  his  friend.  He  spent  the  days  in 
wandering  aimlessly  about  the  moor,  returning  dead  tired 
every  evening,  and  going  to  bed  very  soon  after  dinner  was 
over.  His  piano  remained  unopened. 

When  at  last  he  sat  in  Gabriel's  study,  that  excellent  person 
was  shocked  by  the  change  in  him.  He  was  listless  and 
gloomy,  paid  no  attention  to  anything  that  was  said  to  him, 
and  hardly  spoke.  ‘ I suppose  you  know  I 'm  going  into 
Boulter’s  office,'  he  blurted  out  suddenly  when  Gabriel  was 
talking  about  music. 

4 I knew  that  your  father  was  going  to  suggest  it,'  Gabriel 
answered  mildly.  And  Denis  laughed  like  a Byronic  hero,  and 
echoed,  ‘ Suggest  ! ' in  accents  of  the  bitterest  scorn.  He 
refused  to  speak  of  music  or  to  touch  the  piano.  ‘ That 's  all 
done  with  ! ' he  cried  harshly,  and  a moment  later  Gabriel  saw 
that  his  eyes  were  bright  with  tears.  ‘ I understand  now,'  the 
boy  had  said,  ‘ why  people  say  that  their  time  at  school  is  the 
best  in  their  lives.  It  oughtn’t  to  be,  of  course,  really,  but 

when  one  compares ' He  did  not  revisit  Gabriel,  and 

declined  an  invitation  from  the  Brabazons  without  alleging 
any  reason  for  the  refusal. 

Gabriel  tried  to  persuade  himself  that  it  was  good  for  the 
ardour  of  youth  to  be  thwarted,  but  whenever  he  thought  of 
Denis's  face  as  it  had  appeared  during  that  brief  interview  he 
smelt  calamity  in  the  future.  The  boy  was  mentally  frost- 
bitten ; he  had  lost  all  his  vitality,  and  the  tranquil  charm  of 
his  manner  had  given  place  to  a misanthropic  dourness.  He 
never  spoke  of  his  father,  but  Gabriel  discovered  that  the  long 
feud  between  them  was  supposed  to  have  ended,  and  wondered 
whether,  after  all,  its  termination  was  an  unmixed  blessing. 
There  were  moments  when  he  congratulated  himself  on  being 
childless. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


223 


XXV 

MR.  BOULTER'S  offices  were  situated  in  a fine  old 
Georgian  mansion  which  contrasted  agreeably  with 
the  tawdry  shop-fronts  and  jerry-built  residences  of  Wych- 
combe  main  street.  Inside,  however,  Mr.  Boulter  had  ruined 
the  spacious  elegance  of  the  rooms  on  the  ground  floor  by  erect- 
ing various  partitions,  green  baize  doors,  and  receptacles  from 
which  clerks  observed  you  when  you  entered  as  if  they  were 
hungry  rabbits  in  hutches.  Of  menial  clerks  Mr.  Boulter 
seemed  to  have  a large  supply — prim-visaged,  taciturn  persons 
with  somewhat  shapeless  faces  and  monosyllabic  names  who 
had  a trick  of  walking  on  tiptoe  and  were  seldom  known  to 
smile.  In  addition  to  these  drudges  he  employed  a managing 
clerk,  Mr.  Byng, — a hard-working,  red-faced  man  with  a harsh 
voice  who  was  a keen  sportsman  and  rode  to  hounds  on 
Saturdays  when  work  was  slack, — two  articled  pupils,  and  a 
female  typist,  Miss  Perriam,  a tired-looking  creature  with  red- 
rimmed  eyes  and  a meagre  bosom. 

The  articled  clerks,  who  were  to  be  Denis's  companions  in 
adversity,  had  been  educated  at  the  local  grammar  school,  and  ~ 
were  oddly  different  from  the  boys  whom  he  had  hitherto 
encountered.  The  senior,  Abrahams,  was  a J ew  with  a hatchet 
face,  a florid  complexion,  and  an  uncanny  habit  of  moving  very 
swiftly  and  silently,  like  a panther.  The  junior,  Greaves,  was 
the  son  of  a rich  and  blatant  landowner  who  had  built  himself 
a dreadful  house  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town  ; he  was  a sulky, 
coarse-featured  lout,  wore  very  large  check  suits,  and  habitu- 
ally used  obscene  language.  Denis  infinitely  preferred  the 
J ew  to  the  Christian  ; Abrahams  had  the  shrewdness  of  his 
race,  and  legal  argument  was  the  breath  of  life  to  him,  but  he 
also  possessed  a sense  of  humour,  and  saw  the  comic  side  of  all 
the  petty  chicane  of  local  litigation.  His  name  was  Augustus, 
but  he  was  always  addressed  as  Ikey  by  Mr.  Byng  and  Greaves. 


224 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


Wychcombc  was  nearly  four  miles  distant  from  the  Red 
House,  and  it  was  arranged  that  Denis  should  ride  a bicycle 
thither  in  fine  weather,  and  walk  or  take  the  carrier's  cart  when 
it  was  wet.  He  entered  the  shrine  of  Themis  for  the  first  time 
in  the  beginning  of  September,  and  was  shown  into  Mr. 
Boulter's  private  room.  Mr.  Boulter  was  sitting  at  a large 
table  which  was  covered  with  documents.  He  was  a stout 
man  of  about  fifty  with  a florid  complexion,  short  white  hair, 
and  a bristling  white  moustache  that  was  stained  yellow  near 
his  lips.  His  eyebrows  were  almost  perfect  semicircles,  and 
revealed  all  the  superior  eyelids,  which  were  creased  and  puffy 
like  half-deflated  bladders.  There  were  odd  white  patches 
amid  the  pinkness  of  his  cheeks,  and  his  nose  was  covered  with 
a network  of  little  blue  veins. 

Without  rising,  he  held  out  a hand  to  Denis.  Denis  shook 
it,  and  noticed  that  it  felt  like  damp  seaweed.  Mr.  Boulter 
looked  at  him  for  a moment,  and  his  baggy  eyelids  seemed  to 
expand  and  contract  like  the  bellows  of  a photographic  camera. 

4 Good  morning,  Yorke,'  he  said.  ‘ I 'm  glad  to  see  you.' 
His  voice  was  most  dulcet  ; he  pursed  his  lips  to  a crinkled 
oval,  and  every  vowel  that  he  uttered  seemed  to  be  wedded  to 
a French  closed  U.  A ridiculous  line  that  a great  humorist 
had  constructed  occurred  to  Denis  as  he  stood  by  the  table— 
‘ your  opulent  pagodas  strike  the  sky.'  He  tried  to  imagine 
Mr.  Boulter  in  the  act  of  declaiming  it.  He  smiled,  but  the 
smile  froze  when  he  saw  Mr.  Boulter  reciprocating  it. 

Mr.  Boulter  had  another  accent.  In  a swift,  rasping  voice 
he  shouted  suddenly,  ‘ Miss  Perriam  ! ’ The  typist,  who  was 
seated  at  a table  near  the  window,  sprang  up  as  if  some  one 
had  driven  a dagger  between  her  sharp  shoulder-blades,  seized 
her  papers  with  a terrified  gesture,  and  hurried  from  the  room. 

4 Close  the  door  quietly,  please,'  said  Mr.  Boulter  as  she 
disappeared.  ‘ Now,  Yorke,  I want  to  say  a few  things  to  you 
before  I introduce  you  to  Mr.  Byng  and  the  young  men.  Take 
a chair.  Your  father  tells  me  you're  a lad  of  considerable 
intelligence — well,  fathers  will  be  fathers,  won’t  they  ? ha  ! 
But  I also  inferred,  when  I cross-examined  him — not  that  he 
said  anything  definite,  mind  you — I inferred  that  you  were  a 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


225 


leetle,  a leetle  inclined  to  be  a bit  wild — only  just  a bit — and 
boys  will  be  boys,  as  of  course  I know.  Well,  well ! I may 
have  been  right  and  I may  have  been  wrong,  but  at  all  events 
I shall  say  exactly  the  same  thing  to  you  that  I have  said  to  all 
the  other  clerks  who  come.  I expect  you  to  work  hard  and 
make  yourself  useful,  and  I also  expect  you  to  behave  like  a 
gentleman — in  the  town — even  when  you  're  not  in  the  office. 
You  know  what  I mean  by  that  ? * 

Denis  stared  at  him  blankly.  That  a little  beast  like  Mr. 
Boulter  should  lecture  him  on  gentlemanly  conduct  seemed 
part  of  the  general  ghastliness  of  life,  but  still  he  felt  a faint 
surprise. 

1 I don't  think  I do,  quite,'  he  replied. 

‘ Oh,  you  know,  you  know,'  said  Mr.  Boulter  genially,  and 
he  winked  three  times  at  Denis.  Denis  began  to  think  that  he 
was  mad.  ‘ What  I mean  is  this,'  continued  Mr.  Boulter. 
* Boys  will  be  boys,  as  I said,  especially  when  there  are  girls  in 
the  world.  I ’ve  had  a lot  of  bother  with  my  articled  clerks  ; 
one  of  them  was  in  a paternity  case  when  he  was  only  nineteen, 
and  actually  asked  me  to  defend  him,  the  young  rascal ! But 
that  won’t  do  here,  Yorke.  If  we  were  in  London  I wouldn’t 
say  a word,  but  in  Wychcombe  I won’t  have  it.  If  you  want 

to ’ (Mr.  Boulter  used  a vulgar  word  implying  fleshly  sin) 

‘ you  must  go  over  to  Wenderbridge  ; there  are  plenty  of  bounc- 
ing bonarobas  in  Wenderbridge,  Mr.  Byng  tells  me.  Once 
and  for  all,  understand  that  I won’t  have  my  office  getting  a 
reputation  for  that  kind  of  thing.  It ’s  bad  for  business  ; it 
shocks  all  the  old  women.  That ’s  all  I want  to  say  on  this 
subject,  Yorke,  and  I see  you  take  my  meaning.  I ’m  not  a 
Puritan,  thank  God,  I know  what  young  fellows  must  have. 
Don’t  be  offended  because  I don’t  think  you  any  better  than 
the  rest  of  ’em,’  concluded  Mr.  Boulter  facetiously  ; ‘ I ’m 
an  oldish  man  and  I know  life,  and  you  ’ve  got  an  eye,  you 
young  dog  ! ’ 

Denis  at  that  moment  had  two  eyes  which  were  vivid 
with  appalled  amazement.  Surely  the  man  was  mad ! Mr. 
Boulter  thumped  the  table  with  his  fist  and  laughed  softly  for 
a moment ; then  he  became  perfectly  grave  and  spoke  to 


p 


226 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


Denis  sharply  and  succinctly  about  his  future  duties.  Denis 
did  not  understand  a word  ; he  was  only  conscious  of  a mad 
desire  to  escape,  to  rush  out  of  this  extraordinary  place,  to  put 
a thousand  miles  between  himself  and  Mr.  Boulter's  blotched 
countenance.  A sensation  of  physical  sickness  overwhelmed 
him.  At  length  Mr.  Boulter  rose  and  led  the  way  towards  the 
clerks'  room.  As  they  approached  the  door  Denis  heard  a 
hurried  shuffling  of  feet  and  moving  of  chairs,  but  when  they 
entered  he  saw  nothing  but  two  mbek  youths  who  leant  over 
books  with  their  heads  supported  by  their  hands,  and  looked 
up  with  a reluctant  air,  as  if  they  were  ill-disposed  to  forsake 
their  engrossing  labours. 

‘ Abrahams,'  said  Mr.  Boulter,  ‘ this  is  Yorke.  Do  what 
you  can  for  him  ; he  'll  be  a bit  of  a nuisance  to  you  for  a 
month  or  two,  but  keep  him  going.  I shall  hold  you  re- 
sponsible for  him.' 

Abrahams  looked  very  serious. 

‘ You  may  rely  on  me,  sir,  to  do  my  very  best  for  Yorke,'  he 
said  smoothly.  ‘ I trust  that  he  will  prove  a credit  to  the 
place — and  to  me.' 

Denis  had  never  heard  language  of  this  kind  before.  Mr. 
Boulter,  apparently,  had  done  so. 

‘ Yes,  yes,  yes,  all  right ! ' he  said  testily.  ‘ You  had  better 
turn  him  on  to  the  County  Court  Practice,  and  see  if  he  can 
write  a decent  hand.  That  will  be  your  chair,'  he  added  to 
Denis,  and  departed.  As  soon  as  the  sound  of  his  footsteps 
had  died  away,  Abrahams  rose,  walked  over  to  the  fireplace 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  stared  at  Denis  with  all  the 
might  of  his  very  prominent  black  eyes. 

‘ Has  he  been  giving  you  a jaw  on  the  beauty  of  virtue  ? ' 
he  asked.  His  eyes  scintillated  strangely  and  his  lean  face 
puckered  into  queer  creases.  Denis  answered  'Yes.'  He 
could  think  of  nothing  else  to  say.  He  felt  more  wretched 
than  ever.  Abrahams  executed  a little  dance  on  the  worn 
linoleum  that  did  duty  as  a hearthrug. 

‘ Wicked  old  blaster  ! ' he  said.  ‘ He 's  got  fornication  and 
all  other  deadly  sin  on  the  brain.  You  live  near  here  ; I 
expect  you 've  heard  of  his  goin’s-on.  A regular  old  vampire, 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


227 


he  is  ; he  ain't  safe  ; I wouldn’t  be  Perriam  for  all  you  could 
promise  me.  But  he ’s  a damned  smart  lawyer,  all  the  same. 
Some  time  I ’ll  tell  you  about  all  the  pickles  he ’s  got  himself 
out  of.  Eh,  what,  Greaves,  old  man  ? ’ 

‘ old  ! ’ said  Greaves.  And  this  was  his  sole 

contribution  to  the  conversation.  He  sat  with  his  chair  tilted 
back  and  his  feet  on  the  table,  chewing  a toothpick  and  staring 
sulkily  at  Denis. 

Abrahams  was  much  more  communicative,  and  seemed 
inclined  to  be  friendly.  He  gave  Denis  some  very  easy  work, 
which  poor  Denis,  who  was  in  a state  of  the  blackest  depression, 
muddled  hopelessly.  The  J ew  showed  him  how  it  ought  to 
be  done,  and  encouraged  him  with  a vivid  description  of  the 
delights  of  legal  business  ‘ when  you  once  got  hold  of  the  hang 
of  things.’  ‘ Wait  till  you  come  to  the  County  Court,’  he  said. 
‘ We  have  some  fun  there,  don’t  we,  Greaves  ? You  should 
just  see  old  Boulter  oppressing  the  widow  and  the  orphan,  and 
knocking  out  His  Honour.  It  ’s  prime  ! It  ’s  as  good  as  a 
music-hall  any  day,  and  entrance  free.  A dozen  judgment 
summonses  make  us  all  happy  for  a fortnight.’ 

It  was  obvious  that  Abrahams  had  a deep  enthusiasm  for 
his  profession.  At  one  o’clock,  when  they  went  out  to  have 
luncheon  at  a little  tea-shop  in  the  High  Street,  he  discoursed 
to  Denis  with  agreeable  candour  on  his  own  future,  occasionally 
breaking  off  in  order  to  engage  in  epigrammatic  rivalry  with 
the  large  and  blowsy  female  who  served  them. 

‘ Are  you  ambitious,  Mr.  Yorke  ? ’ he  asked.  Denis  replied 
in  the  negative,  and  implored  him  not  to  use  so  formal  a 
method  of  address.  Abrahams  grinned. 

‘ Thanks  for  kind  permission,’  he  said.  ' It  ’s  just  as  well 
that  you  ain’t,  and  that  old  Greaves  ain’t,  for  I can  tell  you 
that  I ’m  as  chock  with  ambition  as  an  egg  with  meat.  I mean 
to  stick  to  old  Boulter  in  spite  of  his  morals.  I know  how  to 
make  myself  necessary,  you  bet.  If  I could  find  out  some- 
thing shady  about  the  old  rascal,  something  that  he  wanted  to 
keep  dark,  and  get  him  under  my  thumb  for  good,  I should  be 
a happy  as  well  as  nice  young  man.  Hi,  miss,  your  hairpins 
are  all  starting  off  on  a voyage  of  discovery.  Allow  me  to 


228 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


replace  them  for  you.  Oh  ! haughty,  is  it  ? There 's  no  rule 
with  ladies,  you  never  know  how  they  'll  take  a kind  offer. 
Yorke,  you  ain't  been  introjuced.  Miss  Flossie,  Mr.  Yorke. 
He  's  blushing,  Miss  Flossie  ; love  at  first  sight,  but  not  at 
second — like  all  the  rest  of  us.' 

Miss  Flossie  departed  with  a melodramatic  toss  of  the  head. 
* To  'ear  you  little  boys  talk  ! ' she  commented  scornfully. 

4 Fine  piece  of  meat,  ain't  she  ? ' said  Abrahams.  ‘ You 
know  a thing  or  two  about  girls,  I 'll  bet,  Master  Yorke.  At 
a public  school,  weren’t  you  ? Wish  I 'd  been.  Not  so  bally 
innocent  there,  I fancy.  Master’s  daughter,  garden  wall, 
boy  comes  after  cricket-ball.  Poetry,  eh  ! You  ask  Miss 
Flossie  what  colour  her  garters  are  at  Harvest  Festival.' 

Denis  felt  more  and  more  uncomfortable,  and  loathed 
Abrahams.  Greaves  burst  into  a loud  guffaw,  and  whispered 
facetiously.  The  girl  returned  and  looked  at  Denis.  She 
was  hot  and  cross,  but  there  was  something  in  her  expression 
that  brought  a tiny  ray  of  comfort  into  his  darkened  soul. 

‘ Whatever  you  're  doing  with  them  I can't  think,'  she  said, 
with  a contemptuous  twist  of  the  thumb  towards  Abrahams 
and  Greaves.  ‘ Take  my  advice  and  don't  keep  low  company.' 

Abrahams  assumed  an  injured  air. 

‘ His  father  has  put  him  in  our  charge  for  the  good  of  his 
soul,'  he  said.  ‘ We  're  to  see  that  he  has  his  meals  regular. 
You  want  him  for  yourself,  miss,  that 's  the  truth  of  it.  Has 
the  old  man  given  you  the  chuck  ? I know  all  about  you,  my 
dear.' 

The  girl  bit  her  lip,  picked  up  the  money  which  they  had 
laid  on  the  table,  and  marched  away.  When  she  had  gone  a 
few  steps  she  turned,  and  looked  at  Abrahams  with  deep 
hatred. 

4 Hog-flesh  ! ' she  said.  Abrahams  seemed  quite  unruffled 
by  this  ambiguous  insult.  He  laughed  and  looked  at  his 
watch. 

‘ Time 's  up,'  he  said,  with  an  abrupt  change  of  manner. 

‘ So  long,  Miss  Spitfire.' 

The  girl  caught  Denis's  sleeve  as  he  was  going  out. 

‘ Don't  you  believe  what  he  says,'  she  muttered  ; ‘ he 's  a 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


229 


liar.  But  he  ain’t  as  bad  as  the  other  ; you  keep  clear  of  ’im, 
he ’s  a real  wrong  ’un — as  bad  as  bad.’  She  nodded  abruptly 
and  swung  off,  looking  hotter  and  more  dishevelled  than  ever. 

Abrahams  worked  furiously  for  the  whole  of  the  stifling 
afternoon,  Greaves  appeared  to  doze,  and  Denis  stared  with 
blank  eyes  at  page  one  of  the  County  Court  Practice  and 
abandoned  his  soul  to  all  the  demons  of  despair.  This,  then, 
was  the  kind  of  life  that  he  would  have  to  lead  for  five  years  ; 
these  were  the  people  who  would  be  his  companions  ! The 
prospect  was  too  ghastly.  That  Abrahams  and  Greaves  did 
not  happen  to  belong  to  the  respectable  band  of  persons  whom 
he  instinctively  recognised  as  gentlemen  was  a fact  that  did 
not  account  for  his  depression  ; it  was  their  annoying  attitude 
to  life  that  staggered  his  inexperienced  soul ; they  seemed  as 
completely  inhuman  as  if  they  had  migrated  to  the  earth  from 
some  less  civilised  planet.  Mr.  Boulter,  too — there  was  some- 
thing about  him  that  made  one  shudder  ; his  ruddy  face  had  a 
shocking  incongruity  with  his  voice,  his  gestures  ; he  ought  in 
reality  to  have  looked  like  a sick  monkey.  . . . And  they 
would  meet  every  day,  and  Mr.  Boulter  would  smile,  and 
smile.  . . . 

He  thought  of  his  father,  and  a paroxysm  of  helpless  anger 
made  his  face  burn  and  his  hands  tingle.  So  this  was  Dr. 
Yorke’s  revenge  ! He  had  waited  for  years,  and  then  he  had 
dealt  the  blow.  He  must  have  known  quite  well  what  manner 
of  man  Mr.  Boulter  was,  and  what  kind  of  persons  would 
frequent  his  offices.  Denis  made  no  allowances  for  his  father’s 
short-sighted  simplicity  with  regard  to  mundane  affairs  ; the 
whole  business  seemed  to  him  deliberately  malignant,  and 
there  was  actual  hate  in  his  heart.  But,  at  any  rate,  his  father 
should  enjoy  no  ocular  proof  of  his  triumph  ; craft  should  be 
met  with  craft,  and  Denis  told  himself  that  he  would  rather  die 
than  utter  a word  that  might  hint  his  wretchedness. 

He  thought  of  school  with  a regret  that  was  agony.  How 
could  he  ever  have  imagined  that  it  was  dull  or  hateful  ? Its 
incessant  routine,  now  that  one  saw  it  in  retrospect,  had  the 
tranquil  charm  of  a cloistered  life  and  a boundless  possibility 


230 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


of  friendship.  What  chances  he  had  missed  there  ! How 
many  delightful  people  there  were  with  whom  he  could  so 
easily  have  been  intimate  ! And  now  he  was  condemned  to 
associate  perpetually  with  these  dreadful  strangers  whose 
every  word  was  like  a douche  of  icy  water  on  his  back,  with 
whom  he  could  never  have  any  interest  in  common.  It  was 
the  end  of  all  things.  It  would  be  far  better  to  die. 

By  cutting  himself  off  completely  from  music  he  had  shaken 
all  the  foundations  of  his  soul ; his  sense  of  humour  was  com- 
pletely in  abeyance,  and  he  saw  life  in  all  its  naked  horror.  He 
had  assumed  another  personality,  and  was  quite  incapable  of 
finding  joy  in  anything  which  had  formerly  consoled  him. 
The  sunlight,  the  wind,  the  upland — all  that  meant  nothing 
now.  He  thought  of  Rosalind  without  any  thrill  of  pleasure. 
Parnasse,  after  all,  had  only  been  one  of  the  many  fool's 
paradises  that  he  had  visited.  Music  was  another — a lovely 
palace  of  dreams  that  he  would  enter  no  more.  This  was  the 
end,  an  end  that  made  memory  itself  a mocking  tormentor. 
His  life  had  been  built  up  so  well  only  to  be  hurled  to  the  dust 
by  this  collision  with  reality.  The  only  thing  left  was  the 
avoidance  of  thought. 

Strange,  egoistic  anguish  of  thwarted  youth  ! It  was  to 
haunt  him  for  many  days,  and  to  leave  him  with  an  enduring 
bitterness  against  all  in  authority  who  hurt  the  weak  with  the 
intention  of  benevolence.  It  was  so  easy  to  be  kind  sensibly, 
he  thought.  But  it  was  long  before  he  came  round  even  to 
this  point  of  view.  At  present  he  was  firmly  convinced  that 
it  was  his  father's  savage  desire  for  revenge  which  had  placed 
him  in  the  clutches  of  Mr.  Boulter. 

The  long  day  ended  at  last.  The  only  other  episode  was 
the  visit  of  Mr.  Byng,  who  addressed  him  as  ‘ young  feller-my- 
lad,'  and  alluded  to  Mr.  Boulter  as  ‘ the  old  'un.'  Mr.  Byng's 
manner  was  genial,  but  he  had  an  eye  like  a vulture's.  At  six 
o'clock  Denis  mounted  his  bicycle  and  rode  homewards  as  if 
all  the  Eumenides  were  hot  on  his  trail.  He  kept  his  eyes 
resolutely  fixed  on  the  patch  of  road  beyond  his  front  tyre, 
and  did  not  look  at  the  sun  that  sank  behind  the  battlements 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


231 


of  the  hills,  or  the  mature  splendour  of  the  hedgerow.  Once, 
when  a lark  rose  trilling  from  a field  near  the  road,  he  felt  an 
almost  irresistible  impulse  to  dismount  and  fling  a stone  at  it. 
When  the  bicycle  rattled  over  some  loose  flints  he  swore 
violently  and  blasphemously.  His  nerves  were  strung  to  such 
a pitch  as  to  cause  him  actual  physical  agony.  When  he 
reached  the  Red  House  he  was  covered  with  dust  and  sweat, 
and  his  knees  trembled  as  he  walked  upstairs.  He  flung  him- 
self face  downwards  on  his  bed,  and  lay  there  like  a dead 
thing  for  an  hour. 

He  was  quite  calm,  however,  when  he  went  down  to  dinner. 
Dr.  Yorke  was  in  a genial  mood,  and  asked  him  various 
questions  about  ‘ his  new  life/  to  which  he  made  conventional 
replies. 

‘ What  do  you  think  of  your  companions  ? ’ was  one  of  Dr. 
Yorke’s  inquiries. 

‘ I Ve  hardly  had  time  to  get  to  know  them/  said  Denis. 

‘ And  on  the  whole  you  enjoyed  the  day  ? ’ asked  his  father. 

‘ Oh  yes/  said  Denis.  Dr.  Yorke  shook  his  hand  with 
unusual  warmth  when  he  went  to  bed. 


232 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


XXVI 

AUTUMN  flung  her  pageant  of  brown  and  gold  across 
j TjL  the  countryside,  and  winter  came  like  a grey  ghost  in 
the  wind  of  the  November  night.  The  dark  months  of  her 
reign  had  no  promise  of  spring  for  Denis  ; it  seemed  to  him 
that  thenceforward  the  heart  of  the  world  was  to  be  frozen  as 
irremediably  as  his  own.  It  was  ‘ devil's  weather,'  said  the 
country-folk — an  alternation  of  black  frosts  that  slew  the  birds 
in  the  hedges  and  rapid  thaws  that  filled  all  the  valley  with  evil 
mist.  The  hedger  whom  Denis  had  known  since  earliest 
childhood  was  found  dead  by  the  roadside,  frozen  stark,  and 
the  ailing  and  the  old  perished  like  flies  in  a frost.  The  land- 
lord of  the  village  inn  did  a roaring  trade,  died  of  delirium 
tremens  soon  after  Christmas,  and  lay  beneath  an  ugly  Keltic 
cross  which  was  subscribed  for  by  sorrowing  members  of  the 
local  goose  club.  One  of  the  maids  at  the  Red  House  died 
in  childbirth  at  the  Wychcombe  Union  shortly  after  being 
expelled  by  Dr.  Yorke,  who  had  observed  her  condition. 
Every  cottage  had  some  tale  of  sudden  calamity  or  protracted 
suffering.  Men  who  were  formerly  sober  saw  the  error  of  their 
ways,  and  men  who  drank,  drank  more.  It  was  as  if  some 
baleful  influence  lurked  in  the  north-east  wind  that  howled 
incessantly  about  the  shoulder  of  the  hills. 

Throughout  the  winter  Denis  went  every  morning  to  Wych- 
combe. The  inclemencies  of  the  weather  had  no  effect  on  him  ; 
if  he  observed  them  at  all,  it  was  with  a careless  contempt ; 
accidents  of  that  kind  could  not  harm  him  now  ; his  soul  had 
been  brought  too  low  to  be  affected  by  any  subsequent  disaster. 
He  felt  no  sorrow  when  he  heard  of  the  death  of  the  old 
hedger  who  had  been  his  friend  for  so  long,  and  the  Awful 
Warning  that  Dr.  Yorke  read  in  the  housemaid's  fate  did  not 
impress  him.  A superficial  observer  would  have  concluded 
that  he  was  on  much  better  terms  with  his  father  than  had 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


233 


been  the  case  for  several  years  ; the  only  point  on  which  they 
were  at  issue  was  that  of  music.  In  spite  of  Dr.  Yorke’s 
occasional  demands  for  a tune,  Denis  stubbornly  refused  to 
touch  the  piano  ; and  at  last,  on  a certain  evening  when 
Gabriel  Searle  came  to  dinner  and  wished  to  play  a new  piece 
which  had  fascinated  him,  it  was  discovered  that  the  boy  had 
lost  the  key  of  the  instrument. 

He  avoided  Gabriel  as  much  as  possible,  greatly  to  Gabriel's 
disgust.  When  they  met  he  scarcely  spoke,  and  there  were 
moments  when  his  laconic  answers  rose  to  actual  rudeness. 

‘ You  treat  your  old  friends  very  badly,'  Gabriel  complained 
on  one  occasion.  And  Denis  had  replied  that  he  didn't 
believe  in  old  friendships  ; they  always  reminded  one  of  some- 
thing or  other.  During  the  week  he  only  met  Dr.  Yorke  at 
breakfast  and  dinner,  and  as  soon  as  possible  after  the  latter 
meal  he  buried  himself  in  a book.  He  read  insatiably  ; books, 
he  discovered,  were  an  admirable  preventive  to  the  malady  of 
thought,  and  he  devoted  Saturday  afternoons  and  nearly  all 
Sunday  to  them.  Nothing  would  induce  him  to  spend  any  of 
his  leisure  in  walks  on  the  hills. 

But  the  hours  when  he  was  apparently  free  brought  him  none 
of  the  sweetness  of  liberty,  for  even  in  the  Red  House  the 
phantom  of  Mr.  Boulter's  face  seemed  to  follow  him,  and  he 
could  hear  the  ghostly  counterfeit  of  his  unpleasant  laughter 
and  suave  speech.  As  the  dark  weeks  crawled  slowly  away  he 
regarded  the  office  with  a sharper  intensity  of  loathing  ; he 
hated  everything  in  it — the  prim  clerks,  the  musty  smell  of  old 
parchment,  the  dingy  rooms,  and  the  monotonous  obscenities 
of  the  ineffable  Greaves.  Greaves,  indeed,  soon  became  quite 
insufferable.  The  idea  that  Denis  thought  himself  superior 
was  slowly  born  in  his  stupid  brain,  and  thenceforward  he 
devoted  himself  to  annoying  the  boy  with  the  laborious,  deadly 
malice  of  the  dull.  Filthy  speech,  unredeemed  by  any  spark 
of  humour,  was  his  favourite  weapon,  and  he  would  revel  in 
language  so  foetid  that  even  the  very  tolerant  Abrahams  would 
protest.  Occasionally  Greaves  would  break  out  into  open 
invective  against  Denis. 

‘ He 's  so superior,'  he  said  once  in  Denis's  presence. 


*34 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


‘ Thinks  he 's  a gentleman  and  we  're  not,  blast  him.  I tell 
you  what,  Mr.  gentleman  Yorke,  I 'm  going  to  be  called  to  the 

Bar,  and  barristers-at-law  are  a damned  sight  better  than 

country  doctors  any  day  of  the  week.  Old  pillbox  may  call 
himself  a gentleman,  but  who  was  his  wife,  anyhow  ? We 

don't  know  anything  about  her  ; I dare  say  she  was  a 

slavey  in  a sweet  shop,  like  old  Flossie.' 

He  was  leaning  back  in  his  tilted  chair  as  he  spoke,  and 
Denis  was  across  the  room  in  two  strides  and  struck  him  hard 
in  the  face  with  his  clenched  fist.  He  went  over  backwards 
with  a crash,  swearing  violently.  Abrahams  picked  him  up 
instantly,  and  turned  on  Denis. 

‘ Go  to  your  theat ! ' he  cried,  lisping  with  excitement. 

‘ How  dare  you  do  that  in  ofhth  hourth  ! Therve  you  jolly 
well  right,  Greaveth,  all  the  thame.' 

‘ Won't  I murder  him  afterwards,  oh  no  ! I don't  think 
so  ! ' said  Greaves,  rubbing  his  forehead  with  a brilliant  square 
of  bandana.  Denis  waited  for  him  outside  at  six  o'clock,  and 
Greaves  glared  at  him  for  a moment  and  then  walked  away 
with  his  head  in  the  air. 

‘ I won't  soil  my  hands  on  your  dirty  carcase,'  he  said 
magnificently.  Denis  laughed  then  for  the  first  time  since  he 
had  entered  the  office.  After  this  episode  Greaves  refrained 
from  direct  personalities,  but  he  continued  his  attempts  to 
annoy  Denis.  He  boasted  circumstantially  of  his  prowess  in 
drinking,  and  on  more  than  one  occasion  proudly  announced 
that  he  was  suffering  from  an  unnameable  disease. 

‘ Beetht,  beetht ! ' Abrahams  would  cry.  Denis  would 
ignore  Greaves  completely,  but  his  mere  proximity  disgusted 
him  to  the  verge  of  nausea. 

It  was  not  a charming  environment  for  a boy  of  nineteen 
whose  instincts  tended  towards  decency.  Denis  often 
wondered  afterwards  how  he  could  have  endured  it,  and 
realised  that  if  his  whole  temperament  had  not  been  rendered 
numb  and  helpless  by  its  sudden  divorce  from  the  art  that  had 
been  its  vital  breath,  he  would  have  ended  everything  with 
some  grim  and  dreadful  act.  As  things  were,  he  sometimes 
thought  of  a certain  dark  pool  in  the  hills  as  the  only  final 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


235 


solution  of  his  wretchedness.  But  hope  never  wholly  dies 
in  the  young ; it  only  sleeps,  with  a deep,  deathlike 
slumber. 

The  one  compensation  for  the  place  that  he  found — and  the 
discovery  took  him  several  months — was  the  personality  of 
Abrahams.  Denis  had  begun  by  detesting  him  almost  as 
heartily  as  he  loathed  Greaves,  but  gradually  he  realised  that 
there  were  real  gleams  of  decency  in  the  Jew’s  peculiar 
temperament,  and  that  he  possessed  an  extremely  keen 
intelligence.  He  had  no  morals,  in  the  conventional  sense, 
and  in  matters  connected  with  his  profession  he  was  completely 
unscrupulous  and  wonderfully  wary  ; Law  and  Morality  he 
regarded  as  two  parallel  straight  lines  which  never  met  though 
they  were  produced  ever  so  far  in  the  same  direction.  He  was 
often  amazingly  vulgar  ; though  he  lived  correctly,  he  regarded 
women  from  the  point  of  view  of  an  Oriental  libertine  ; he 
loved  flashy  neckties  and  large  rings,  and,  professionally,  he 
seemed  often  both  a snob  and  a hypocrite.  Yet  he  was 
impulsively  kind,  and  had  a mania  for  generosity  ; he  shared 
his  money  ungrudgingly  with  Greaves,  and  was  always  trying 
to  thrust  presents  on  Denis — silver  pencil-cases,  cigarette- 
holders,  and  enormous  bouquets  which  he  modestly  called 
buttonholes..  He  would  sit  late  in  the  office  re-touching  some 
work  which  Denis  or  Greaves  had  done  badly,  simply  in  order 
to  protect  them  from  the  wrath  of  Mr.  Boulter  ; yet  he  was 
furiously  jealous  if  either  of  them  were  praised,  and  would 
warn  them  solemnly  against  infringing  on  the  path  of  his 
ambition. 

He  often  invited  Denis  to  accompany  him  to  his  home  ; 
Denis  evaded  him,  not  too  politely,  for  a long  time,  but  in  the 
end  he  was  obliged  to  give  in.  The  family  of  Abrahams  re- 
ceived him  with  a fervour  that  made  him  breathless  : Mrs. 
Abrahams,  who  was  enormously  stout  and  possessed  four  chins 
and  a yellow  velvet  tea-gown  of  staggering  splendour,  embraced 
him  heavily  ; Mr.  Abrahams,  who  seemed  at  first  sight  to  be 
nothing  but  a nose  rampant  above  a waistcoat,  patted  him  on 
the  back  and  asked  after  his  ‘ pa  ’ ; and  Miss  Abrahams,  a gipsy- 
like damsel  with  a beautiful,  pale  amber  complexion  and 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


236 

immense,  luxurious  eyes,  looked  at  him  as  if  he  were  a fairy 
prince  who  had  roused  her  from  enchanted  slumber. 

They  sat  down  at  half-past  six  to  an  immense  meal  at 
which  cold  ham  and  game-pie  were  flanked  with  muffins  and 
bread-and-butter  and  watercress  and  trifle  and  all  kinds  of 
cakes,  and  they  plied  Denis  with  food  to  such  an  extent  that 
the  thought  of  a week's  starvation  became  delicious.  They 
talked  volubly,  and  when  any  subject  arose  that  merited  the 
disapproval  of  the  ladies — old  Abrahams  really  said  most 
extraordinary  things  ! — or  when  some  one  was  mentioned 
whom  they  disliked,  they  assumed  the  most  delicious  air  of 
languor  and  spokedn  a mincing  and  artificial  way  that  had  the 
charm  of  high  comedy.  They  were  often  quite  ridiculous  and 
extremely  affected,  but  Denis  was  able  to  come  to  one  con- 
clusion about  the  whole  family : there  was  no  doubt  about 
their  deep  affection  for  one  another.  Abrahams  was  obvi- 
ously adored  by  his  parents  and  his  sister  ; they  were  con- 
tinually quoting  him,  or  appealing  for  his  opinion.  ‘ Gustus 

says ' ‘ What  do  you  think  about  it,  Gustus,  my  dear 

boy  ? ' 'I  always  put  on  a red  hat  when  I go  out  with 
Gustus,  Mr.  Yorke.  He  just  adores  bright  shades.'  And 
Gustus  was  certainly  quite  at  his  best  at  home,  and  made  fun 
of  his  sister  most  cleverly  and  yet  kindly,  and  kissed  his 
mother's  hand  when  she  went  out  of  the  dining-room,  which, 
Denis  thought,  was  a very  pretty  custom. 

After  * tea  ' was  over  they  sat  in  a room  which  was  quite  full 
of  the  most  expensive  and  hideous  furniture,  and  listened  to 
Miss  Abrahams'  rendering  of  Chopin,' s Second  Nocturne, 
followed  by  selections  from  all  the  latest  musical  comedies. 
Denis  thought  poorly  of  Miss  Abrahams'  soul,  but  her  fingers 
were  certainly  dexterous,  and  she  made  great  play  with  the 
loud  pedal.  Her  eyelids  fluttered  beautifully,  and  her 
handsome  shoulders  rose  and  sank  as  if  she  were  trying  to  free 
them  from  some  invisible  weight. 

‘ I 'm  sure  you  play,  Mr.  Yorke  ! ' she  said  suddenly,  swing- 
ing round  on  the  music-stool,  and  clasping  her  hands  as  she 
leant  towards  him.  Denis,  as  he  looked  at  her,  was  reminded 
of  an  engraving  in  an  old  copy  of  Byron's  poems  which 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


237 


represented  Haidee  leaning  over  the  sleeping  Don  J uan.  How 
extremely  red  her  lips  were,  and  how  the  lower  one  seemed 
always  to  be  on  the  point  of  falling  away  from  the  upper,  and 
yet  kept  its  place  and  helped  to  form  a full  and  quite  beautiful 
bow  ! He  noticed  also  that  the  iris  of  her  dark  eyes  was 
flecked  with  little  yellow  streaks. 

‘ I gave  up  music  altogether  last  summer/  he  said,  rather 
curtly. 

‘ Oh,  how  sad ! ’ she  crooned.  ' I ’m  sure  you  played  very 
nicely,  Mr.  Yorke.  I can  see  it  in  your  face.  You  have  a real 
high-art  expression.’ 

‘ Cecilia,  don’t  tease  Mr.  Yorke,’  admonished  Mrs. 
Abrahams,  but  without  severity.  Denis,  who  was  guiltily 
conscious  of  a note  of  roughness  in  his  refusal  to  play,  said 
that  he  thought  Cecilia  was  a most  appropriate  name  for  a 
musician.  The  remark  had  an  almost  embarrassing  success. 

‘ We  ’ve  both  got  Roman  names  because  we ’ve  both  got 
Roman  noses,’  cried  Gustus.  The  physical  claim  that  this 
assertion  contained  was  not  strictly  legitimate,  but  it  made  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Abrahams  laugh  immoderately. 

4 Gustus  ’ll  be  the  death  of  me  some  day  ! ’ said  the  proud 
mother.  And  Gustus  winked  gaily  at  Denis.  Then  they 
played  absurd  round  games  of  cards — Animal  Grab,  in  which 
Mr.  Abrahams  uttered  the  peculiar  cry  of  every  species  of 
mammal  at  the  wrong  moment,  and  Old  Maid,  when  he 
created  intense  amusement  by  omitting  to  remove  a Queen 
from  the  pack  before  the  game  began.  They  were  quite 
disconsolate  when  Denis  had  to  depart,  and  Cecilia  insisted  on 
lighting  his  bicycle  lamp  with  her  own  fair  hands. 

Queer  people,  but  rather  jolly  and  very  kind,  thought  Denis, 
as  he  trundled  homeward  through  the  slush  of  another  rapid 
thaw.  The  cloudy  pillar  of  depression  that  usually  accom- 
panied him  on  this  journey  seemed  somewhat  less  dense  than 
usual.  He  found  himself  actually  envying  Abrahams, — 
Abrahams,  from  whom  he  had  turned  at  first  with  contemptu- 
ous aversion  ! To  be  doing  the  work  one  liked,  whatever  it 
might  be,  and  to  adore  and  be  adored  by  one’s  people  in  a home 
where  laughter  and  affection  entirely  atoned  for  saffron  tea- 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


238 

gowns  and  awful  furniture, — one  couldn’t  demand  much  more 
than  that  ! He  tried  to  picture  himself  brought  up  in  a family 
of  the  same  kind,  but  the  vision  faded  when  he  thought  of 
Cecilia’s  rendering  of  the  Second  Nocturne. 

When  he  reached  home  Dr.  Yorke  commented,  though  not 
in  a tone  of  reproof,  on  the  lateness  of  his  arrival,  and  he 
explained  its  reason.  Dr.  Yorke  made  some  remarks  to  the 
effect  that  though  Mr.  Abrahams  was  a worthy  man  who  had 
worked  his  way  to  affluence  from  a small  grocer’s  shop,  it 
was  scarcely  incumbent  upon  Denis  to  associate  with  young 
Abrahams  after  office  hours.  ‘ Not  that  I mind,’  said  Dr. 
Yorke,  * I hope  I am  not  so  foolish  as  to  despise  a self-made 
man.  Self-made  men  are  the  backbone  of  England.  But 
people  are  oddly  particular  about  class-distinctions  in  the 
country.  Some  of  my  patients  would  be  quite  shocked  if  they 
knew  you  were  associating  with  people  in  a different  position.’ 

‘ Abrahams  is  an  articled  clerk,  just  like  me,’  said  Denis 
wearily. 

‘ Of  course,  of  course,  but  you  know  what  I mean,’  Dr. 
Yorke  had  answered. 

Gradually  Denis  dropped  into  the  habit  of  going  to  see  the 
Abrahams  once  a week— usually  on  Fridays  ; and  if  he 
omitted  to  visit  them  Gustus  would  arrive  at  the  office  on 
Saturday  charged  with  three  separate  and  severe  reproaches. 
Greaves  was  not  invited  to  these  festivities.  ‘ I don’t  mind 
old  Greaves  in  the  office,’  explained  Gustus,  ‘ but  he  ain’t 
precisely  the  kind  of  feller  that  you  want  to  introduce  to  your 
sister,  don’t  yer  know.  I did  take  him  round  once,  and  he 
made  a blasted  favour  of  it  and  was  as  grumpy  as  be  damned. 
Pa  didn’t  cotton  to  him  at  all,  at  all.’  ‘ Pa ’ certainly  ‘ cottoned ’ 
to  Denis.  ‘ A nice-spoken,  gentlemanly  young  chap,’  he  said, 
as  he  sat  before  his  patriarchal  hearth  with  his  waistcoat 
unbuttoned ; ‘ a bit  quiet,  but  none  the  worse  for  that.’ 

‘ And  so  nice-looking ! ’ said  Miss  Cecilia : ‘ and  yet  sad,  like 
one  of  Burne-Jones’s  beautiful  knights.’  Mrs.  Abrahams  did 
not  blossom  into  such  aesthetic  raptures,  but  occupied  her 
leisure  moments  in  making  a large  comforter  for  Denis  to 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


239 

wear  when  he  bicycled  between  the  Red  House  and  the 
office. 

After  a while  he  began  really  to  enjoy  these  Friday  evenings, 
and  to  look  forward  to  them  during  the  dullness  of  office  work 
and  the  almost  insufferable  tedium  of  the  sordid  County 
Court.  But  in  spite  of  them  he  was  still  the  prey  of  intense 
depression,  and  when  he  awoke  in  the  morning  his  heart  would 
sink  at  the  thought  of  having  to  live  down  another  long  day 
that  would  resemble  its  predecessors  in  every  dreary  detail. 
There  was  still  no  news  of  Noel,  and  Denis  was  almost  glad  of 
it.  He  wanted  no  reminder  of  the  ancient  happiness  that  was 
slowly  becoming  a half-forgotten  dream.  He  began  to  find  a 
perverse  and  sardonic  pleasure  in  contemplating  the  complete 
destruction  of  his  old  self  ; at  the  end  of  February,  when  he 
had  been  in  the  office  for  six  months,  it  seemed  to  him  that  all 
his  former  tastes  and  desires  were  really  dead  ; the  music  in 
his  brain  was  as  silent  as  the  piano  in  the  Red  House,  and  the 
thought  of  his  school  life  became  a recollection  of  episodes, 
and  not  of  ideas  and  sensations.  He  continued  to  avoid 
Gabriel  Searle  as  completely  as  was  possible. 


240 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


XXVII 

THE  winter  ended  with  a terrific  snowstorm,  and  very 
slowly  spring  journeyed  northwards,  a capricious 
goddess,  niggard  of  sunshine,  and  apt  to  slay  her  own  faint 
flowers  with  sudden  mimicry  of  the  methods  of  her  forerunner. 
But  she  came  at  last ; her  breath  mellowed  the  air  of  dark  and 
balmy  nights  of  March,  and  her  eyes  shone  in  sunbeams  that 
penetrated  even  the  legal  dust  of  Mr.  Boulter’s  office  windows. 
Mr.  Boulter  ignored  her,  or  pulled  down  the  blind  in  her  face, 
and  Mr.  Byng  growled  because  hunting  was  at  an  end,  but 
Abrahams  rejoiced  greatly.  Spring,  he  informed  Denis  face- 
tiously, was  responsible  for  nine  out  of  every  ten  breach-of- 
promise  actions  in  the  world.  Not  that  he  was  only  conscious 
of  this  particular  aspect  of  her  influence  ; he  liked  to  see  the 
country,  and  was  jolly  keen  on  nature  and  all  that,  though 
Denis  mightn’t  think  it ; actually  felt  inclined,  some  morn- 
ings, to  pitch  old  Boulter’s  parchments  at  old  Boulter’s  head, 
and  to  dash  out  into  the  shining  world.  Funny  how  it  took 
people,  the  spring.  Cissy,  for  instance,  when  it  came,  did 
nothing  but  read  poetry  and  sing  songs  about  lovers  who  went 
sailing  on  the  cruel  sea.  Old  Greaves,  on  the  other  hand, 
made  plans  for  his  own  reformation  and  drank  an  extra  pint  of 
beer  every  day.  Boulter  wore  a white  waistcoat  and  oiled  the 
place  where  his  hair  used  to  grow. 

He  wound  up  this  rhapsody  by  inviting  Denis  to  come  for  a 
walk  in  the  woods  on  the  following  Saturday.  Denis  refused 
at  first,  but  a relentless  cross-examination  by  Abrahams 
proved  that  he  had  no  reasonable  excuse,  and  in  the  end  he 
was  obliged,  for  the  sake  of  his  own  peace,  to  consent.  On 
Saturday  morning  Abrahams  arrived  at  the  office  with  a satchel 
containing  a copious  supply  of  sandwiches  and  hard-boiled 
eggs,  two  bottles  of  beer  and  some  raspberry  vinegar. 

4 The  R.V.  ’s  for  Cissy,’  he  said.  4 Messy  stuff,  only  fit  for 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


241 


women.  She  ’s  going  to  meet  us  at  the  cross-road  near  All 
Oaks  Wood.  It ’s  quite  warm  enough  to-day  for  a picnic/ 

Denis  had  been  wholly  unaware  that  Miss  Cecilia  was  to  be 
included  in  the  expedition,  but  the  news  that  she  was  to  join 
them  caused  him  no  particular  thrill  of  delight  or  irritation. 
During  the  last  two  months  he  had  grown  quite  intimate  with 
the  Abrahams  family  • the  Friday  evening  tea  had  become  a 
fixed  institution,  and,  on  the  whole,  he  liked  Cecilia,  though 
her  affectations  were  occasionally  fatiguing.  She  invariably 
tried  to  persuade  him  to  play  the  piano,  and  tossed  her  head 
and  flounced  when  he  refused  ; and  she  always  insisted  on 
pinning  a flower  in  his  buttonhole,  an  operation  which  was 
only  accomplished  after  innumerable  writhings,  giggles,  and 
cries  of  ‘ Stand  still,  you  naughty  boy  ! ' which  were  quite 
inappropriate,  for  Denis  was  as  immobile  as  a bronze  statue  of 
patience. 

She  met  them  at  the  appointed  rendezvous,  looking,  though 
Denis  omitted  to  notice  the  fact,  extremely  handsome  in  a 
white  frock  and  a big  red  hat.  The  soft  air  had  dealt  kindly 
with  her  delicate,  pale  amber  complexion,  flushing  it  with  very 
faint  pink,  and  her  eyes  were  extraordinarily  bright.  She 
carried  a stick  with  an  iron  spike  in  the  ferule. 

‘ You  look  a regular  daisy ! ’ said  her  artless  brother, 
striking  an  absurd  attitude  in  front  of  her,  ‘ don’t  she,  Yorke, 
my  lad  ? 9 Denis  said,  'Yes,  rather  ! ’ with  due  emphasis. 
Miss  Cecilia  looked  at  him,  smiled,  fluttered,  sighed,  and  began 
to  stab  the  road  with  the  point  of  her  stick. 

‘ Do  you  mind  my  coming  with  you,  Mr.  Yorke  ? ’ she  asked, 
glancing  at  him  sideways.  Denis  made  an  appropriate 
response,  and  she  sighed  again,  and  looked  at  him  with  eyes 
that  had  become  infinitely  mournful. 

‘ Oh,  if  I only  knew  what  really  went  on  inside  that  calm 
face  of  yours  ! * she  said. 

' Well/  said  her  brother,  ‘ I don’t  know  what ’s  going  on 
inside  his  calm  face,  but  I know  what ’s  going  on  inside  his 
uncalm  body,  and  that ’s  hunger.  I vote  we  find  a sheltered 
place  where  there ’s  some  sun,  and  have  lunch.’ 

They  entered  the  wood,  and  Cecilia  found  a glade  that  was 
Q 


242 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


full  of  sunshine  and  quite  out  of  the  wind.  Here  they  un- 
packed the  basket,  and  then  the  cry  went  up  that  has  ascended 
from  a thousand  picnics  in  every  quarter  of  the  civilised  globe. 
Abrahams  clutched  his  brow  with  a gesture  of  extravagant 
despair,  and  pointed  a reproachful  finger  at  his  sister. 

4 Woman/  he  said,  ‘ the  corkscrew ! woe  is  me,  the  corkscrew ! 
and  not  only  the  corkscrew,  but  the  water  for  the  rasp,  vin/ 
Cecilia  began  to  shriek  apologies,  but  her  brother  silenced  her. 

‘ No  matter/  he  said  magnificently.  ‘ The  keeper's  cottage 
isn't  far.  I 'll  go  off  and  borrow  one.' 

‘ Let  me  go,'  said  Denis.  ‘ I know  where  it  is,  and  I don’t 
believe  you  do.' 

But  Cecilia  would  not  hear  of  this. 

‘ He  '11  find  it  quite  easily,  Mr.  Yorke  ; you  must  stay  and 
talk  to  me,'  she  said. 

‘ Right-oh  ! ' cried  her  brother.  ‘ I shan’t  be  more  than  ten 
minutes.  Don't  you  eat  up  everything,  you  two  ! ' and  he 
departed,  whistling. 

‘ Let 's  sit  down,'  said  Cecilia ; and  they  did  so,  she  on  a 
felled  tree  and  Denis  on  a mossy  stump.  The  boy  clasped  his 
hands  round  his  knees  and  looked  up  at  the  delicate  greens  and 
greys  that  were  beginning  to  soften  the  lovely  outlines  of  a 
silver  birch.  This  return  to  the  woods  that  he  had  avoided 
for  so  long  was  causing  him  the  most  odd  sensations  ; the 
subtle  odour  of  the  earth  and  of  last  year’s  leaves  made  him 
feel  almost  dizzy  ; he  stared  at  the  sky  beyond  the  silver 
birch  and  half  closed  his  eyes.  A bee  flew  close  to  his  ear,  and 
its  humming  died  away  in  a swift  diminuendo.  All  the  wood 
was  lyric  with  the  songs  of  the  birds  • and  he  was  surprised  to 
find  that  he  could  still  recognise  their  different  voices.  It 
seemed  so  many  years,  so  black  and  desolate  an  age,  since  he 
had  last  heard  them  ! He  felt  as  if  he  had  been  blind  and 
deaf  for  centuries. 

He  had  wholly  forgotten  that  he  was  not  alone  when 
Cecilia's  voice  broke  in  upon  his  thoughts. 

‘ Aren’t  you  going  to  speak  to  me,  Mr.  Yorke  ? ' she  asked. 

Denis  turned  towards  her  with  a startled  air. 

‘ I ’m  very  sorry,'  he  said.  ‘ I 'm  afraid  I 'm  very  rude. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


243 


You  must  have  thought  I 'd  fallen  into  a trance.  You  see, 
this  is  the  first  time  I 've  been  in  a wood — since  I was — for 
ages.’ 

She  threw  her  head  backwards  and  pouted.  ‘ I see  ! ' she 
said.  4 And  of  course,  oh,  of  course  ! woods  are  much  more 
interesting  than  poor  girls  ! Don't  mind  me,  Mr.  Yorke  ; go 
on  looking  at  your  horrid  old  wood.'  Abruptly,  she  dropped 
her  affected  manner,  and  leant  forward,  looking  at  him 
intently. 

4 You  are  different  from  ordinary  people,  aren't  you  ? ' she 
murmured. 

The  words  had  a strange  familiarity  ; for  a moment  Denis 
felt  as  if  he  had  lived  through  an  exactly  similar  scene  at  some 
other  time  in  his  life.  Then  he  remembered  ; he  saw  himself, 
a forlorn,  dripping  small  boy,  standing  in  the  rain  at  nightfall, 
and  near  him  was  a dim  figure  which  spoke — the  figure  of  a 
little  girl  in  a yellow  mackintosh.  Something  seemed  to  crack 
in  the  region  of  his  heart.  His  eyes  smarted. 

He  realised  that  Cecilia  was  still  leaning  forward  and  looking 
at  him.  Her  face  was  so  near  that  he  could  have  counted  the 
queer  streaks  of  yellow  in  her  eyes.  He  thought  then  that  she 
had  a very  peculiar  expression.  She  smiled  when  he  looked  at 
her,  and  then  the  smile  faded  slowly.  To  his  utter  amazement 
she  put  a hand  on  his  arm. 

‘ I 'd  better  tell  you,'  she  said,  seeming  to  fight  for  breath 
between  the  words  ; ‘ you  're  not  like  any  one  else,  one  has  to 
tell  you  the  truth.  I left  it  out  on  purpose.' 

‘ Left  it  out  ? ' echoed  the  stupefied  Denis. 

‘ Yes,  yes  ! ' cried  Cecilia.  ‘ The  corkscrew.  Oh  ! you  'll 
despise  me,  I know ; you  always  do,  but  I couldn’t  help  it. 
I 'd  never  been  alone  with  you,  and  I couldn't  see  a chance, 
and  I knew  Gustus  would  have  to  go  and  fetch  it,  and  I knew 
that  he  wouldn't  know  the  way  to  the  cottage  from  here,  and 
I chose  this  place  on  purpose.  You  think  me  a horrid,  hateful 
girl — I can  see  it  in  your  eyes — but  1 had  to  do  it,  I had  to  do 
it!  ' 

Her  voice  became  shrill.  Denis  felt  desperately  uncomfort- 
able, and  yearned  for  the  sound  of  Abrahams'  returning  foot- 


244 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


steps.  He  was  quite  convinced  that  Cecilia  had  gone  mad. 
Meanwhile  Cecilia  continued  to  pour  out  a torrent  of  words. 

‘ I know  you  don’t  care  for  me  ; I know  you  never  will ! ’ 
Her  voice  was  shrill  and  tremulous,  like  the  sound  of  a taut 
wire  in  the  wind.  She  rolled  her  eyes  in  a way  that  Denis 
would  have  thought  comic  on  any  other  occasion  ; her  fingers 
trembled  convulsively.  ‘ You  ’re  different  to  the  others, 
that ’s  why  I ’m  making  a show  of  myself.  And  they  did 
admire  me,  though  you  may  not  believe  it ! ’ She  gasped,  and 
produced  a tiny  lace-bordered  handkerchief.  ‘ You  think 
I ’ve  no  shame,’  she  said,  sniffing  violently,  ‘ but  I don’t  care, 
I don’t  care.’ 

Denis’s  acute  embarrassment  began  to  give  place  to  irrita- 
tion. Abrahams,  he  knew,  would  return  in  a few  'minutes, 
and  then  there  would  be  a scene,  and  the  day  would  be  ruined. 
He  withdrew  his  sleeve  from  her  clutching  fingers. 

‘ Oh,  do  stop  ! ’ he  said. 

She  sprang  up,  trying  to  assume  an  air  of  offended  dignity, 
and  stood  looking  at  him  for  a moment.  Then  she  uttered  a 
strange  cry,  fell  on  her  knees,  flung  her  arms  round  his  neck, 
and  kissed  his  mouth  again  and  again.  He  felt  her  warm 
breath  on  his  face,  and  when  he  tried  to  push  her  away  the 
yielding  softness  of  her  body  troubled  him  obscurely.  Sud- 
denly she  released  him,  tearing  away  her  arms  with  an  almost 
violent  gesture,  and  sat  on  the  fallen  tree,  dabbing  her  eyes 
with  her  tiny  handkerchief. 

‘ That ’s  what  I ’ve  been  wanting  to  do  for  weeks  ! ’ she 
remarked.  ‘ I feel  better  now.’ 

Denis  did  not  congratulate  her  on  her  changed  sensations, 
but  sat  on  his  stump  looking  red  and  miserable  and  feeling 
supremely  ridiculous. 

After  another  moment  of  dabbing  she  leant  towards  him. 

‘ I know  you  think  I ’ve  no  shame, ’she  said, rather  piteously, 
1 but  it  isn’t  only  that.  I don’t  love  you  only  because  you’re 
so  nice-looking  * it ’s  because  I know  you  ’re  not  happy.  I 
knew  it  when  I first  saw  you,  and  I ’d  have  died  to  make  you 
happier,  I would  indeed.  Gustus  laughed  at  me,  and  said  you 
only  looked  like  that  because  you  hated  learning  law,  but  I 


THE  FIRST  ROUND  245 

knew  better.  I ’ve  told  you  my  secret,  won’t  you  tell  me 
yours  ? ’ 

Her  eyes  were  shining  now  with  pure  friendliness.  The 
inexperienced  Denis  was  completely  amazed  by  this  new 
development,  and  stared  blankly  at  her.  She  became  very 
mournful  when  he  refused  to  speak. 

‘ I knew  it  all  along/  she  said,  shaking  her  head.  ‘ You  ’re 
in  love  with  some  one.  That ’s  why  you  ’re  so  sad.  That ’s 
why  you  hate  poor  me.  But  I don’t  care,’  she  added,  with 
another  swift  change  of  tone,  ‘ I don’t  care,  because  I ’ve 
kissed  you.’ 

Denis  thought  with  envy  of  the  fate  of  Dathan  and  Abiram. 
His  embarrassment  grew  to  absolute  fear.  As  she  sat  there  in 
her  large  red  hat  and  too  elaborate  frock  she  seemed  to  become 
a monstrous  and  terrifying  thing,  crafty  and  hostile  as  a 
dangerous  animal.  He  had  never  thought  that  women’s  eyes 
could  glow  with  that  odd  light.  He  glanced  round  the  wood. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  the  aspect  of  all  the  earth  and  sky  had 
changed. 

‘ I don’t  hate  you,’  he  said  feebly.  ‘ But  I wish ’ 

She  cut  him  short. 

‘ You  needn’t  be  afraid,’  she  said  rapidly  ; ‘ I shan’t  ever  do 
it  again.  You  ’re  like  ice.  And  though  I don’t  care  now,  I 
shall  lie  awake  for  nights  crying  because  of  to-day.  I have 
some  pride,  though  you  mightn’t  think  it.  I wish  you  did 
hate  me  ; it  would  mean  that  you  thought  about  me,  instead 
of  taking  less  notice  than  if  I was  an  earwig  or  a blade  of  grass.’ 

She  dabbed  her  eyes  again. 

‘ Oh,  I ’m  miserable,  miserable  ! ’ she  moaned.  ‘ We 
mustn’t  ever  meet  again  ! I couldn’t  bear  it,  I couldn’t  face 
the  shame.’  She  tore  the  lace  from  her  handkerchief  with  a 
sharp  gesture  and  flung  it  on  the  ground.  Her  voice  was  deep 
with  reproachfulness.  Denis  felt  that  this  was  the  last  straw. 

‘ But  we  ’re  sure  to  meet,’  he  said.  1 Why  can’t  we  be 
friends,  just  as  we  used  to  be  ? ’ 

‘ Were  we  ever  friends  ? ’ she  whispered  tragically.  Then 
her  whole  manner  changed. 

4 Good  gracious  ! ’ she  cried  f ‘ if  we  haven’t  forgotten  all 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


246 

about  lunch  ! ' She  went  quickly  to  the  satchel  and  began  to 
spread  its  contents  on  the  ground.  A moment  later  Denis 
realised  that  she  had  heard  the  sound  of  her  brother's 
return. 

4 Mr.  Yorke  and  I had  such  an  interesting  talk  that  we 
forgot  all  about  lunch  ! ’ she  cried  gaily  when  Gustus  and  the 
corkscrew  appeared  in  the  glade.  And  when  they  sat  on  the 
tree  and  consumed  the  sandwiches  and  hard-boiled  eggs  she 
was  positively  brilliant,  and  drank  large  quantities  of  diluted 
raspberry  vinegar.  Denis  soon  began  to  wonder  if  he  had 
dreamed  the  whole  episode.  Her  flow  of  epigram  endured  for 
the  whole  afternoon  as  they  roamed  about  the  woods,  and 
Denis,  to  his  great  surprise,  found  himself  laughing  as  heartily 
as  Abrahams. 

They  parted  at  the  Abrahams'  garden  gate  about  half-past 
five.  She  took  the  flowers  which  he  had  gathered  for  her,  and, 
in  Abrahams'  phrase,  ‘ chawfed  ' him  because  the  stalks  were 
too  short.  It  had  been  a most  successful  day,  she  pronounced, 
and  appealed  to  him  for  his  verdict  with  a most  frank  and 
friendly  smile.  Suddenly  he  saw  a strained  expression  invade 
her  eyes  and  her  lips  quivered  slightly.  She  turned  and 
walked  slowly  towards  the  front  door. 

Gustus  accompanied  Denis  for  a short  distance,  making 
plans  for  another  excursion.  When  they  were  at  the  end  of 
the  High  Street  he  stopped  abruptly. 

‘ Just  a word,  Yorkie,  my  boy,'  he  said.  ‘ When  I went  to 
fetch  the  corkscrew  did  she  ask  you  to  kiss  her  ? ' 

This  bald  question  petrified  Denis.  He  stared  at  Gustus. 

‘ Who  ? What  ? ' he  muttered  indistinctly. 

Gustus  uttered  a peculiar  low  laugh,  and  smote  him  on  the 
back  with  considerable  violence. 

‘ I thought  so,'  he  said,  ‘ when  I came  back  and  saw  that 
you  were  the  colour  of  her  Sunday  hat.  Don't  you  worry 
about  it,  old  feller.  She 's  always  doing  it.' 

‘ Oh  ! is  she  ? ' said  Denis. 

Gustus  nodded  solemnly. 

‘ She  means  nothing  by  it,'  he  explained.  ‘ It  is  her  nature 
so  to  do.  You  see,  I don’t  want  you  to  feel  sheepish  when  you 


THE  FIRST  ROUND  247 

come  on  Fridays.  There  ’s  nothing  in  it,  absolutely  nothing. 
So  long,  old  man.’ 

Denis  meditated  on  these  fraternal  revelations  as  he  rode 
homewards  on  his  bicycle.  Could  they  be  true  ? Was  she 
really  ‘ always  like  that  ’ ? He  thought  of  the  quivering  lips 
at  the  garden  gate,  and  felt  mentally  lost.  Then  he  recon- 
sidered every  detail  of  the  scene  in  the  wood,  and  his  face  burned 
so  furiously  that  he  was  thankful  for  the  darkness.  What 
disgusting  luck  it  was  to  be  entrapped  in  so  awkward  an 
experience,  and  what  a foolish  figure  he  had  cut.  He  tried  to 
imagine  some  of  his  friends  in  the  same  position — Noel,  or 
even  Gabriel  Searle  ! — but  failed.  It  seemed  impossible  that 
such  a piece  of  ill-fortune  could  come  into  their  lives. 

So  she  was  ‘ always  like  that.'  Yet  when  he  thought  again 
of  Gustus’s  condemning  words,  he  was  tremendously  startled 
to  find  that  they  aroused  in  him  no  feeling  of  consolation,  but 
actually  a dim  kind  of  resentment.  So  she  behaved  in  that 
way  with  every  one — kissed  them  on  the  mouth  with  her  warm 
lips,  and  hugged  them  fiercely  with  her  soft  arms  ! Denis 
shivered  violently,  and  mended  his  pace.  Did  all  girls  behave 
in  that  way  ? His  mind  went  questing  in  the  past  which  it 
had  shunned  for  so  long,  and  suddenly  the  face  of  Rosalind 
seemed  actually  to  shine  before  his  eyes, — no  tantalising  vision, 
but  one  which  consoled  him  exactly  as  it  had  done  when  he  had 
been  troubled  or  weary  at  school.  She,  at  any  rate,  was  made 
in  a finer  mould  ; she  was  never  ‘ like  that ! 9 He  thought  of 
her  during  the  remainder  of  his  journey,  and  the  memory  of 
the  episode  in  the  wood  ceased  to  torment  his  soul. 

It  continued  to  recur  at  intervals,  however,  and  when  he 
went  to  the  usual  festivity  on  the  following  Friday  his  blood 
ran  up  scarlet  signals  of  embarrassment  whilst  he  was  greeted 
by  Cecilia.  That  young  lady  was  perfectly  self-possessed, 
though  she  seemed  more  sedate  than  was  usual,  and  looked  ill. 
The  atrocious  Abrahams  winked  at  Denis,  and  tried  to  draw 
his  attention  to  Cecilia  with  a humorous  jerk  of  the  head  when- 
ever her  back  was  turned — a foolish  pantomime  which  was 
discreetly  ignored  by  Denis. 

They  had  only  sat  at  the  table  for  five  minutes  on  this 


248 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


particular  Friday  when  Denis  realised  that  something  had 
happened  to  annoy  his  hosts.  A cloud  overhung  the  genial 
brow  of  Mr.  Abrahams,  and  his  wife’s  saffron  tea-gown  was 
distended  with  frequent  and  very  audible  sighs.  Even 
Gustus  looked  grim  « he  had  been  comparatively  silent  during 
office  hours  for  the  last  two  or  three  days,  announcing  at 
intervals  that  he  was  about  fed-up  with  Wychcombe.  For  a 
moment  Denis  had  a horrid  fear  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Abrahams 
had  heard  of  the  drama  in  the  wood,  and  were  going  to 
betroth  him  to  Cecilia  ; but  he  realised  very  soon  that  he  was 
not  the  cause  of  their  indignation. 

When  tea  was  ended  Mrs.  Abrahams  and  Cecilia  went  to  the 
drawing-room,  and  Mr.  Abrahams  lit  a very  large,  pale  cigar. 
He  smoked  somewhat  noisily  for  several  minutes,  then  looked 
at  Denis,  and  removing  the  cigar,  opened  his  lips  to  speak. 
But  when  Denis  looked  at  him  expectantly,  he  appeared  to 
change  his  mind,  avoided  the  boy’s  eye,  and  continued  to 
smoke.  These  manoeuvres  seemed  to  make  Gustus  restive. 

‘ Out  with  it,  pa,’  he  exhorted  his  parent : ‘ now  or  never  ! 
The  more  you  look,  the  wider  the  water.  Shut  your  eyes  and 
pull  your  socks  up.  Hold  your  nose  and  make  a bolt  for 
fresh  air.  Get  it  off  your  chest  like  a man.’ 

Thus  encouraged,  Mr.  Abrahams  again  removed  his  cigar, 
smoothed  the  creases  from  his  colossal  waistcoat,  said  ‘ Hem  ! ’ 
three  times  in  crescendo,  and  fixed  Denis  with  a solemn  stare. 

‘ My  young  friend,’  he  said,  ‘ what  is  your  private  opinion  of 
Mr.  Boulter  ? ’ 

The  question  disappointed  Denis,  who  was  expecting 
something  tremendous. 

‘ I believe  he ’s  a very  clever  lawyer,’  he  answered.  Mr. 
Abrahams  wagged  a fat  finger. 

4 Now,  now,  my  dear  Master  Yorke  ! ’ he  chuckled.  ‘ That ’s 
only  your  public  opinion  of  Mr.  Boulter.  I want  the  real 
thing,  the  real  thing.’  His  voice  assumed  a rich  succulency. 

‘ I think  he ’s  a slimy  old  beast ! ’ said  Denis. 

‘ But  I presume  that  you  intend  to  pursue  your  studies  in 
Mr.  Boulter’s  office  for  some  years  ? ’ continued  Mr.  Abrahams. 

‘ I ’m  obliged  to,  worse  luck,’  said  Denis. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND  249 

4 Well,  don't ! ' said  Mr.  Abrahams.  He  leant  back  in  his 
chair  and  regarded  Denis  with  immense  solemnity. 

4 Please,  what  do  you  mean  ? ' asked  the  boy.  He  was 
convinced  that  Mr.  Abrahams  was  bringing  off  some  elaborate 
jest  at  his  expense. 

4 What  I said/  answered  Mr.  Abrahams.  4 Don't.  You 
aren't,  or  you  won't  be,  so  don't.'  He  met  the  gaze  of  Denis's 
astonished  eyes  for  a moment,  and  then  chuckled  slowly. 

4 What  my  respected  pa  means  is  this,'  explained  Gustus. 
4 Don't  think  you  'll  put  in  all  your  time  at  old  Boulter's, 
because  very  soon  there  mayn't  be  any  old  Boulter  to  receive 
you  in  his  office  with  smiles  of  affection  and  esteem,  as  his 
custom  was.  And  don't  think  you  're  bound  to  old  Boulter, 
for  an  event  may  shortly  happen  which  may  release  you  from 
all  obligations.  There  you  have  it  in  legal  English/ 

4 Do  you  mean  that  he 's  ill  ? ' asked  Denis.  4 He  was  all 
right  yesterday  morning.  I heard  him  having  a row  with 
Byng.' 

4 He  wants  a change  of  air,'  said  Gustus,  and  at  this  remark 
Mr.  Abrahams  laughed  so  immoderately  that  the  tears  came 
into  his  eyes. 

4 That 's  it,'  he  said,  4 a change  of  air,  a little  voyage  ! 
Boulter  by  name  and  Boulter  by  nature.  Haw -haw  ! ' 

Suddenly  he  became  serious.  4 He 's  a dam  scoundrel,'  he 
said,  thumping  the  table, 4 and  in  a couple  of  days  every  one 
in  the  county  '11  know  it.  I happen  to  know  it  earlier  than 
most  people.  Now,  look  here,  my  boy ; I 'm  a man  of  business, 
take  my  advice.  Don't  go  to  the  office  to-morrow.  By 
Monday  your  father  won't  want  you  to  go,  I reckon.  Any- 
how, you  stay  away.  Don't  mind  about  your  articles  ; all 
that  can  be  settled  later, — luckily  Gustus  has  just  finished  his. 
You  keep  clear  of  a wasp's  nest  that  is  going  to  be  smoked  out/ 

The  essential  factors  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Boulter  were  at 
length  explained  to  Denis.  Boulter  had  been  solicitor  to  a 
large  local  trust  for  many  years,  and  had  systematically 
defrauded  the  trustees  from  the  first  year  of  his  appointment. 
He  had  managed  to  conceal  his  thefts  with  amazing  cleverness, 
and  only  the  most  absurd  accident  had  revealed  the  truth 


250 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


to  one  of  the  trustees,  a local  magnate  who  had  been  Mr. 
Abrahams’  partner.  This  personage  had  come  to  Mr. 
Abrahams  on  the  Thursday  evening  in  a condition  that 
hovered  between  paralysis  and  apoplexy.  It  did  not  take  long 
for  the  experienced  eye  of  Mr.  Abrahams  to  discover  the  truth 
about  the  solicitor’s  career.  A warrant  for  the  arrest  of  Mr. 
Boulter  was  about  to  be  issued. 

‘ But  they  won’t  get  him,’  said  Gustus  ; ‘ he ’s  too  smart 
for  ’em ! Went  off  to  Birmingham  yesterday  morning,  eh, 
Yorkie  ? He  must  have  known  it  was  all  U.P.  By  now  he ’s 
on  the  Bay  of  Biscay,  ho,  and  I hope  he ’s  being  sick.  We 
shan’t  see  him  any  more  till  we  meet  in  heaven.  It ’s  awkward 
for  me,  as  I meant  to  be  his  partner.  Silly  old  fool ! ’ Denis 
had  an  uneasy  feeling  that  Gustus  was  not  in  the  least  appalled 
by  Mr.  Boulter’s  crime,  but  despised  him  heartily  for  allowing 
his  iniquities  to  be  detected. 

As  he  walked  home — for  his  bicycle  was  at  Boulter’s  office — 
he  was  at  first  conscious  only  of  a deep  disgust  at  being  in- 
volved, however  slightly,  in  so  sordid  an  affair.  The  old, 
implacable  resentment  surged  up  in  his  breast ; how  like  his 
father,  he  thought,  to  make  him  the  pupil  of  a thief  ! Gradu- 
ally, however,  a new  train  of  ideas,  inspired  in  part,  perhaps, 
by  the  balmy  evening  air  and  the  physical  pleasure  of  walking 
through  the  darkness,  began  to  invade  his  mind.  This 
collapse  of  Mr.  Boulter  meant  freedom  ! — the  freedom  which 
he  had  almost  ceased  to  desire  until  his  return  to  the  woods, 
on  the  day  when  the  birds  sang  and  Cecilia  behaved  like  a 
lunatic,  had  awakened  the  old  craving  and  overwhelmed  him 
with  vague,  bitter-sweet  memories.  There  would  be  an  end  of 
conveyances  and  county  courts,  and  Mr.  Byng  would  cease  to 
be  genial ; best  of  all,  there  would  be  an  end  of  the  foul- 
mouthed  Greaves.  His  spirits  rose  when  he  contemplated  the 
vision  of  liberty,  and  as  he  looked  back  on  his  imprisonment 
he  felt  a thrill  of  hatred  that  was  almost  pleasure.  How  he 
loathed  the  office  ! Was  it  possible  that  he  had  only  been 
chained  there  for  seven  or  eight  months  ? In  retrospect  it 
seemed  a lifetime.  It  was  ended,  now,  at  any  rate  ; his  father 
would  not  dream  of  sending  him  back  to  a place  that  was 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


251 


tainted  with  theft ; his  attitude  towards  dishonesty  had 
always  been  pitiless.  But  would  Dr.  Yorke  insist  that  he 
should  continue  to  learn  law  in  another  office  ? It  was  almost 
certain  that  he  would.  Denis  squared  his  shoulders  and  drew 
a deep  breath  ; nothing,  he  told  himself,  should  make  him 
obey.  He  had  been  weak  before  ; he  had  been  taken  by 
surprise  and  was  too  bewildered  to  resist,  and  escape  had 
seemed  impossible.  It  seemed  equally  impossible  now,  but 
he  was  suddenly  strong,  his  old  vitality  had  returned.  He 
would  find  a way. 

He  strode  along  vigorously,  drawing  the  night  air  deep  into 
his  lungs,  and  feeling  an  ecstasy  of  pleasure  in  the  rhythmic 
play  of  the  muscles  in  his  legs  and  back.  He  could  almost 
imagine  that  he  was  a dead  man  who  had  returned  to  life,  so 
novel  and  splendid  seemed  the  world.  Mr.  Boulter  had  really 
performed  a miracle  ! The  new  moon  edged  her  way  through 
a wreath  of  mist,  and  he  took  off  his  cap  to  her  solemnly.  He 
halted  to  watch  her  as  she  rose,  and  when  her  dim  radiance 
showed  the  dark  outline  of  the  hills  he  greeted  them  with  an 
exulting  cry.  For  a moment  he  felt  a passionate  longing  to  go 
to  them  at  once,  to  ascend  by  some  well-remembered  path,  and 
standing  on  the  edge  of  the  crest,  to  listen  to  the  sigh  of  the 
sleeping  earth.  They  seemed  to  him  living  and  faithful 
friends  whom  he  had  long  neglected.  But  very  soon  he 
realised  that  there  was  a fiercer  yearning  in  his  heart ; his 
pulses  throbbed  swiftly,  and  when  he  began  to  walk,  the  inner 
voices  which  he  had  imagined  to  be  dumb  for  ever  began  to 
murmur  a triumphant  melody.  His  blood  ran  hot  and  cold, 
and  fiery  lights  flashed  before  his  eyes.  The  old  sense  of  some 
imminent,  wonderful  event  began  to  haunt  him  with  an  irre- 
sistible obsession. 

When  he  reached  the  Red  House  he  went  straight  to  his 
room  and  began  to  ransack  the  wardrobe  eagerly,  flinging 
the  clothes  in  all  directions  in  the  manner  of  a character  in 
farcical  comedy.  At  length,  apparently,  he  found  the  object 
for  which  he  was  searching,  and  leaving  the  clothes  to  lie  in 
fantastic  disorder  throughout  the  room,  he  rushed  down- 
stairs. A moment  later  the  long-abandoned  piano  was  open  ; 


252  THE  FIRST  ROUND 

he  struck  several  loud  chords  and,  without  pausing,  began  to 
play. 

No  creation  of  another  composer,  however  noble,  could 
satisfy  him  that  night ; he  was  whirled  into  an  extraordinary 
improvisation  in  which  all  the  pent-up  vitality  that  belonged 
to  eight  months  of  youth  found  a violent  and  delirious  outlet. 
The  great  chords  boomed  through  the  house  like  the  voices  of 
giants,  and  high  above  them  echoed  the  cries  of  Maenads  who 
streamed  across  the  upland  with  waving  torches  that  shone  on 
their  tossing  hair  and  maddened  eyes.  A brief  silence,  and 
then  came  the  awakening  murmur  of  the  forest  at  the  hour  of 
dawn,  swelling  gradually  to  a great  climax  of  rejoicing  that 
hailed  the  resurrection  of  the  sun.  From  the  loud  splendour 
of  this  paean  was  born  a melody  that  sang  the  loveliness  of 
spring,  and  the  flower  spirits  of  the  dim  woodland  took  hands 
and  danced  in  the  glades,  and  there  was  laughter  on  the  gleam- 
ing faces  of  the  rivers.  The  shining  soul  of  freedom  passed 
through  the  world,  and  the  sorrowful  forgot  their  sorrow,  and 
the  joyous  were  dowered  with  a finer  and  more  pensive  joy. 
The  great  sea  shouted  when  she  passed,  and  the  trumpets  of  the 
wind  thundered  her  praise. 

This,  at  any  rate,  was  what  Denis  felt  and  heard.  He 
played  for  nearly  an  hour,  and  ultimately  was  interrupted  by 
his  father,  who  entered  the  room  looking  greatly  surprised. 

‘ I thought  you  had  given  up  the  piano/  he  said  ; ‘ I suppose 
you  found  the  key.  Denis,  I have  just  heard  a piece  of  news 
which  concerns  you.  There  is  an  unpleasant  rumour  going 
about  the  county  ; people  are  saying  that  Mr.  Boulter  has 
been  behaving  dishonourably,  and  that  he  has  gone  away  in 
order  to  avoid  the  consequences.  Have  you  heard  anything 
about  it  ? We  must  never  condemn  a fellow-creature  hastily, 
of  course.’ 

Denis  swung  round  on  the  music-stool. 

‘ I heard  all  about  it  from  Mr.  Abrahams/  he  said.  * It ’s 
quite  true.  I suppose/  he  added  after  a moment,  ‘ I needn’t 
go  back  to  the  office.’ 

Dr.  Yorke  seemed  surprised  by  this  assumption. 

‘ Oh  ! ’ he  said  : 4 I don’t  know  about  that.  The  business 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


253 


will  be  carried  on  by  Byng,  I should  think.  After  all,  the 
man  Boulter  may  be  innocent ; Mr.  Judkins,  who  discovered 
the  error,  is  notorious  for  his  prejudices.  At  present,  at  all 
events,  you  must  continue  to  go  ; I can't  have  you  shirking 
the  work  of  your  life.  After  a time  I must  arrange  to  transfer 
you  to  another  office,  if  necessary.' 

‘ Ah  ! ' said  Denis.  He  turned  slowly,  and  struck  a soft 
chord  on  the  piano.  If  Dr.  Yorke  could  have  seen  his  face 
he  would  have  been  somewhat  startled.  But  Dr.  Yorke  was 
engaged  in  fumbling  in  his  pockets. 

‘ I met  the  postman  on  my  way  home,’  he  said  ; ‘ there  was 
a letter  for  you.  Now,  where  on  earth  did  I put  it  ? It  had  a 
London  postmark.  Whom  do  you  know  in  London,  Denis  ? 
I didn't  know  there  was  any  one.  Ah  ! here  it  is.' 

He  handed  the  letter  to  Denis.  The  boy  looked  at  it 
casually  for  amoment,  and  then  a shiver  of  surprise  ran  through 
his  body,  and  his  eyes  glowed  strangely.  He  gave  one  swift 
glance  at  his  father  and  thrust  the  letter  in  a pocket. 

‘ Thank  you,'  he  said.  ‘ It 's  from  an  old  schoolfellow.' 

‘That's  right!'  said  Dr.  Yorke,  ‘don’t  neglect  to  keep 
up  school  friendships.  Look  at  Gabriel  Searle  ; his  school 
friends  come  to  stay  with  him  even  now,  and  he 's  getting  on 
for  fifty.  Don't  make  too  much  noise,  Denis,  I 've  some 
letters  to  write.  I never  heard  anything  like  the  row  you  were 
making  as  I came  in.' 

‘ I shan’t  play  any  more,'  said  Denis.  As  Dr.  Yorke  entered 
the  study  he  heard  the  shriek  of  a scale  that  rang  through  the 
house  and  then  the  thump  of  the  piano-lid  as  it  was  closed. 
A moment  later  Denis  rushed  upstairs  to  his  room. 

Once  again  an  event  had  happened  to  prove  the  wisdom  of 
his  prophetic  sense.  The  address  on  the  envelope  which  he 
tore  open  was  written  by  Noel  Tellier. 


254 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


XXVIII 

ON  the  afternoon  of  the  Sunday  that  followed  Mr. 

Boulter’s  abrupt  retirement  from  his  profession, 
Augustus  Abrahams  was  sitting  in  the  tiny  room  that  he  called 
his  study,  smoking  a cigarette  and  reading  a comic  paper.  His 
brilliant  patent-leather  boots  rested  on  the  mantelpiece,  his 
lurid  waistcoat,  still  glowing  from  the  hands  of  Cecilia,  was 
unbuttoned  in  accordance  with  the  principle  of  heredity,  and 
his  attitude  and  his  expression  denoted  the  extreme  of  physical 
and  mental  ease.  A gold  cigar-case  lay  open  on  the  small  table 
by  his  side,  and  near  it  stood  a large  glass  that  was  filled  with 
very  purple  port.  It  was  his  invariable  custom  on  Sunday 
afternoons  to  retire  with  his  wine  to  his  own  room,  leaving  Mr. 
Abrahams  to  slumber  stertorously  on  the  dining-room  sofa. 

He  had  been  reclining  in  this  attitude  for  about  half  an  hour, 
and  was  beginning  to  feel  that  a pleasant  languor  was  invad- 
ing all  his  senses,  when  a knock  at  the  door  caused  him  to  sit  up 
with  a jerk.  He  looked  round  with  an  expression  of  annoy- 
ance, that  changed  instantly  to  delight  when  he  saw  who  the 
intruder  was. 

‘ Yorkie,  my  boy  ! ’ he  cried  : ‘ charmed  to  see  you,  old 
feller  ! Sit  down  and  have  a glass  of  magenta.  Port  after 
stormy  seas  and  bike  rides  doth  greatly  please,  says  the  poet. 
Oh,  you  walked,  did  you  ? Bike  at  Boulter’s  and  you ’ve 
come  to  shake  the  dust  off  your  tyres  on  his  doorstep,  eh  ? 
He ’s  gone  for  good,  Yorkie,  they  won’t  get  him.  I suppose 
you  aren’t  going  back  to  the  office  ? ’ 

‘ No,  I ’m  not,’  said  Denis. 

4 What  are  you  going  to  do,  then  ? ’ asked  Gustus.  He 
stared  hard  at  Denis  for  a moment.  * What  the  jooce  has 
happened  to  you,  Yorkie  ? ’ he  cried  ; ‘ you  look  different, 
somehow.  You’ve  got  an  eye  on  you  like  a diamond  solitaire. 
Has  your  long-lost  uncle  left  you  a fortune,  or  did  you  meet 
Cissy  in  the  hall  ? 9 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


255 


Denis  flushed  absurdly. 

‘ Oh,  do  shut  up/  he  said. 

‘ Well,  you  look  top  hole/  went  on  Gustus  ; ‘ I do  believe 
you  've  grown  since  Friday  night.  You  've  been  up  to 
something,  you  young  dog.  Who  is  she  ? All  right ! don't 
get  angry  ; only  my  funny  way.  I 'll  be  polite  and  formal. 
To  what,  Mr.  Yorke,  am  I indebted  for  the  doubtful  honour 
of  this  dreary  visit  ? ' 

Denis  was  silent  for  a moment. 

‘ Look  here,'  he  said,  ‘ swear  you  won’t  tell  any  one  ; swear 
you  won’t  breathe  a word  even  to  your  own  people,  and  I ’ll 
tell  you  what  I ’m  going  to  do.  Will  you  promise  ? ' 

Gustus  put  one  hand  on  his  waistcoat  and  raised  the  other 
towards  the  ceiling. 

4 1 swear,'  he  said  in  sepulchral  tones,  ‘ by  the  sun  and  moon, 
and  the  Pope  of  Rome,  and  the  Scarlet  Woman  mentioned  in 
Revelation,  and  the  President  of  the  American  Republic  and 
the  tail  of  Beelzebub.  Will  that  do  for  you  ? Heave  ahead ! ' 

* I 'm  going  to  London,’  said  Denis  solemnly.  Gustus 
stared  at  him  with  feigned  rapture. 

‘ My  word  ! ’ he  cried.  ‘ Only  think  ! that 's  a thing  that 
no  one 's  ever  done  before,  anyhow  ! Going  to  London  ! My 
stars  ! Then  I suppose,  my  little  hero,  that  your  respected  pa 
is  going  to  put  you  in  a London  office.  You  take  care  of 
yourself ; it 's  a wicked,  wicked  place,  full  of  sweetshops  and 
painted  Jezebels.' 

'No,  he ’s  not  going  to  put  me  into  an  office,'  answered 
Denis  with  vehemence.  ‘ I 'm  never  going  into  an  office  again. 
I 've  done  with  the  loathsome  Law.  I ’m  going  to  London  to 
be  a musician.' 

Abrahams  whistled  softly. 

‘ O ho- ! ' he  said.  ' You 've  cut  off  your  respected  pa  with 
a shilling,  I presume.  When  exactly  did  you  become  a 
musician  ? Was  it  all  of  a sudden  on  Friday  night  ? ’ 

‘ I 've  always  been  one,’  said  Denis  : ‘ that 's  why  I hated 
Boulter’s.  And  now  I 've  got  the  chance  of  escaping,  and  I 'm 
going  to  take  it.  I 'm  off  to-morrow  morning.' 

Abraham  realised  that  he  was  serious.  ‘ You  're  going  to 
bolt,  in  fact  ? ' he  inquired. 


256 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


‘ Yes  ! ’ said  Denis.  He  shivered  with  excitement.  Gustus 
sipped  his  port  meditatively. 

‘ Rather  rough  luck  on  the  old  man,  ain't  it  ? ’ he  asked, 
without  looking  up. 

Denis  made  an  impatient  gesture. 

‘ I don’t  care,  I don’t  care,’  he  muttered.  * I ’ve  got  to  go.’ 

The  grim  determination  in  his  voice  surprised  Gustus.  To 
think  that  quiet  little  Yorkie  should  turn  out  such  a Tartar  ! 
There  must  have  been  a family  row  ; old  Yorke  was  an  awful 
old  sanctimonious  ass.  He  looked  steadily  at  Denis. 

‘ I don’t  know  much  about  music  myself,’  he  said,  ‘ but  I 
suppose  it ’s  all  right.  Cissy  seems  to  think  so  ; she  pounds 
away  at  her  love-songs  all  the  blessed  day.  But  is  there  any 
money  in  it  ? that ’s  the  thing.  Didn’t  all  these  big  musician- 
chaps  have  to  go  round  with  a barrel-organ  for  years  before 
they  did  any  good  ? That ’s  what  I gathered  from  hearing 
Cissy  talk  about  ’em.’ 

‘ Oh,  you  don’t  understand  ! ’ cried  Denis.  ‘ Music — it  isn’t 
a thing  you  do  for  money,  it ’s  a life — it ’s  your  life  ! Money 
doesn’t  matter  if  you  ’re  free — if  you  ’re  doing  the  right  thing, 
the  thing  you  ’re  meant  to  do.’ 

Gustus  nodded  slowly  and  sympathetically. 

‘ Have  you  ever  been  hungry  and  not  been  able  to  get  any- 
thing to  eat  ? ’ he  asked.  ‘ I haven’t,  but  I ’ve  met  fellers 
that  have.  Even  money  begins  to  matter  a bit  then.’ 

Denis  meditated. 

‘ But  they  come  through,’  he  said  ; ‘ the  musicians,  I mean. 
Hunger  doesn’t  kill  their  music  as  other  things  kill  it — working 
in  an  office  or  living  with  some  one  who  can’t  understand.’ 

‘ Oh  well,  you  know  best ! ’ said  Gustus,  but  without  con- 
viction. ‘ But  now  we  ’re  on  the  subject,  may  I ask  if  you ’ve 
any  money  to  get  along  with  until  you  make  your  fortune  by 
giving  concerts  to  the  Queen  in  the  Albert  Hall  ? Or  is  the 
Lord  Mayor  going  to  board  and  lodge  you  free  of  charge  at  the 
Mansion  House  ? ’ 

Denis  smiled. 

‘ That  is  what  I ’ve  come  to  see  you  about,’  he  said.  ‘ I ’m 
very  sorry,  but  I shall  have  to  borrow  two  or  three  pounds 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


257 


from  you.  Once  I ’m  in  London  I shall  be  all  right ; I ’vea 
friend  there,  and  I shall  get  some  musical  work  to  keep  me 
going.  I ’ve  thought  it  all  out.’ 

He  showed  no  embarrassment  in  offering  to  elevate  Gustus 
to  the  position  of  creditor.  Gustus  stared  at  him,  then 
laughed  softly. 

4 This  beats  cockfighting  ! ’ he  said.  ‘ So  you  Ve  put  your 
pride  in  your  pocket  at  last,  eh  ? D’  you  remember  how  you 
always  refused  cigarette-holders  and  things  ? Yorkie,  you  're 
a changed  man/ 

‘ It ’s  only  because  I Ve  got  to  go/  said  Denis.  ‘ I ’ll  pay 
you  back  as  soon  as  I can,  but  it  may  be  some  weeks/ 

Gustus  rose  and  smacked  him  on  the  shoulder. 

‘ Damn  paying  back/  he  said  ; 4 we  ’re  friends,  ain’t  we  ? 
You  can  give  me  a free  seat  in  the  Albert  Hall  next  to  Queen 
Victoria.  But  what ’s  the  good  of  two  or  three  pounds  ? Is 
your  friend  a rich  man  ? ’ 

4 No,’  answered  Denis,  ‘ I don’t  think  so.  He ’s  a musician 
too — a singer.’ 

‘ Then  I bet  the  first  thing  he  does  when  he  sees  you  is  to 
borrow  a fiver.  You ’d  better  have  twenty,  Yorkie  ; I ’m 
flush  of  money  just  now,  and  I can  always  go  to  the  governor 
if  I run  short.  And  if  you  do  get  into  low  water,  don’t  forget 
your  little  friend  Augustus.  I ’ll  be  proud  to  do  anything  in 
that  line,  I will  indeed.’ 

His  kindness  made  Denis  feel  ashamed.  Gustus  produced  a 
bundle  of  notes  from  a cash-box/  Ha  ! I ’m  richer  than  I 
thought,’  he  said.  ‘ Make  it  thirty,  Yorke,  just  to  oblige  a 
friend.  You  ’ll  want  ’em  all.’  But  Denis  refused  to  accept 
more  than  ten  pounds. 

‘ That  ’ll  keep  me  going  for  ages,’  he  said.  ‘ You  can  live 
on  thirty  shillings  a week  in  London.  I ’ve  got  a lot  of  songs 
that  I can  sell,  too.  I ’ll  pay  you  back  in  a month,  I hope.’ 

‘ Oh,  drop  it ! ’ cried  Gustus,  with  real  annoyance.  He 
fidgeted  about  the  room  for  a while.  ‘ I ’m  jooced  sorry 
you  ’re  going,  Yorkie,’  he  said  at  length,  coming  to  a halt  in 
front  of  Denis.  ‘ I took  to  you  from  the  first,  though  you  were 
so  jolly  quiet.  I shall  never  forget  the  way  you  punched  old 

R 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


258 

Greaves  in  the  face.  He  ’d  been  wanting  it  for  ages,  but  I ’m 
not  good  in  that  line.  You  're  a fighter,  really,  you  know,  and 
I reckon  you  ’ll  come  through  the  crowd  even  in  the  music 
trade.  Cissie  ’ll  be  the  colour  of  cold  veal  when  she  hears  that 
you  ’ve  gone.’ 

Denis  looked  frightened  at  the  sound  of  that  redoubtable 
name,  and  resolved  to  employ  every  art  that  would  help  him  in 
avoiding  its  possessor.  By  a most  unlucky  coincidence,  how- 
ever, they  almost  collided  with  Cecilia  when  they  opened  the 
study  door.  She  gave  a little  shriek  and  smiled  at  Denis. 

‘ Oh,  Mr.  Yorke,’  she  said,  ‘ who ’d  have  thought  of  seeing 
you  ? I was  just  coming  to  tell  Gustus  to  take  me  for  a walk.’ 

‘Oh!  we  never  go  for  walks  on  a Sunday,’  said  Gustus, 
rather  rudely.  * Cissie,  Mr.  Yorke  and  I have  to  talk  business. 
We  ’re  in  the  thick  of  this  Boulter  affair.’ 

Cecilia  flounced  and  bridled. 

‘ Oh  ! I wouldn’t  interrupt  you  for  worlds  ! ’ she  cried  in 
shrill  accents.  ‘ Good-bye,  Mr.  Yorke.’ 

‘ Good-bye,’  said  Denis.  Thank  Heaven,  this  was  the  last 
of  Cecilia.  He  shook  hands  with  her,  and  then  realised  that 
she  was  regarding  him  with  an  absolutely  bewildering  expres- 
sion. He  was  becoming  used  to  her  infinite  variety,  however, 
and  forgot  her  completely  before  he  reached  the  garden  gate. 
He  gave  Gustus  an  address  in  London  where  letters  would 
reach  him,  and  said  farewell  to  him  with  real  regret. 

‘ Keep  on  smiling  ! ’ shouted  Gustus  as  Denis  turned  the 
c >rner. 

Wychcombe  High  Street  was  wholly  deserted  when  he  went 
to  Boulter’s  office  for  his  bicycle.  After  some  trouble  he  was 
able  to  borrow  a key  of  the  shed  where  it  reposed,  and  as  he 
stood  ready  to  ride  away  for  ever  from  those  unhallowed 
precincts,  he  looked  at  the  grimy  windows  and  felt  a deep  thrill 
of  defiant  joy.  No  more  Boulter,  no  more  Greaves  ! The 
shining  road  lay  plain  before  him  at  last ! He  mounted  his 
bicycle  and  rode  to  the  Red  House,  and  played  Mendelssohn’s 
Lieder  ohne  Worte  to  his  father  until  dinner- tjme. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


259 


PART  III 


XXIX 


THICK  fog  had  descended  on  Chelsea,  and  the  long 


room  was  full  of  tobacco  smoke,  so  that  when  he 


entered  it  he  could  not  distinguish  between  the  faces  of  the 
men  who  were  sitting  by  the  fire.  But  a figure  rose  instantly 
from  the  circle — a figure  which  for  a moment  seemed  to  him  no 
other  than  that  of  Mr.  Duroy — and  strode  towards  him.  It 
was  Noel,  at  last ; a very  large  Noel,  with  a beard  and  an 
immense  pair  of  shoulders,  but  with  the  same  voice  and  the 
same  gestures  that  he  had  known  so  well  at  school. 

‘ This  is  great ! ' he  said,  and  Denis  writhed  in  a most  power- 
ful hand-clasp.  Noel  held  him  by  the  shoulders  for  a moment, 
and  stared  at  him,  beaming.  ‘ You  don't  look  so  very  legal, 
after  all ! 5 he  cried. 

‘ Oh,  I altered  during  the  journey,'  Denis  answered.  He 
was  overcome  with  joy  at  meeting  Noel  at  last,  and  noticed 
that  the  room  smelt  like  the  studio  at  Parnasse.  ‘ Then 
you  're  painting  ! ' he  said. 

‘ A masterpiece  now  and  then,'  said  Noel  airily.  ‘ You 've 
come  at  exactly  the  right  moment.  I 've  a tame,  pet  musician 
here  waiting  to  be  introduced  to  you.  Sandys,  this  is  Denis 
Yorke,  who  is  great  and  not  famous  ; Denis,  this  is  Archibald 
Sandys,  who  is  famous  and  will  never  be  great.  You  can't  be 
great  if  you  're  christened  Archibald,  a name  the  Muse  abhors.' 

A short  man  with  very  square  shoulders  rose  from  his  chair 
by  the  fire  and  marched  solemnly  towards  them.  He  had  a 
pale  face  with  a queer  prim  mouth  and  large  melancholy  eyes. 
He  gazed  up  at  Denis,  who  overtopped  him  exceedingly,  and 
smiled  a shy  smile.  ‘ How  d'  ye  do  ! ' he  said  in  a high  stac- 
cato voice,  and  shook  Denis's  hand  as  if  it  were  a rat  that  he 


26o 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


desired  to  slay.  Still  clinging  to  it,  he  made  a gesture  in  the 
air  with  his  left,  and  cried  fiercely  : 

‘ Curse  all  claptrap  ! ' 

4 Curse  all  claptrap  ! ' said  Denis,  laughing,  hardly  knowing 
what  impelled  him  to  re-echo  the  words.  The  astonishing 
little  man  said  ‘ Good,  good  ! ' and  went  back  to  the  fire.  Noel 
explained  him  to  Denis. 

4 Don't  mind  him,'  he  said  ; ‘ he 's  mad,  but  honest.  This  is 
James  Grimshaw,  the  painter.  His  great  ambition  is  to  get 
into  the  Academy  ; but  they  've  no  use  for  him  ; he  can't 
paint  seraphs  and  sofa-cushions  and  women  who  cheat  at 
cards.' 

Denis  was  thrilled.  He  knew  that  Grimshaw  was  already 
famous  as  one  of  the  protagonists  of  the  modern  revolt  against 
the  oleaginous  prettiness  of  the  mid- Victorian  Academic 
tradition.  He  had  often  read  articles  in  the  daily  papers 
which  protested  shrilly  against  the  painter’s  brutal  heaviness 
of  line  and  violent  orgies  of  colour,  and  he  looked  at  him  with 
respectful  interest.  Grimshaw,  at  that  moment,  hardly  repre- 
sented his  ideal  of  an  iconoclast,  a champion  of  new  faiths  and 
noble  innovations : he  was  lean  and  unkempt,  with  sandy  hair 
and  a moustache  like  a superannuated  nailbrush,  and  he 
seemed  somnolent  and  morose.  His  face,  Denis  thought, 
would  have  been  dignified  but  for  the  deep  lines  that  ran  from 
the  side  of  each  nostril  to  the  corner  of  each  lip.  His  forehead 
was  magnificent. 

He  shook  hands  without  rising  from  his  chair  or  speaking, 
and  then  stretched  out  his  legs  towards  the  fire  and  lay  staring 
at  a picture  above  the  mantelpiece.  Denis  disliked  him 
instinctively  ; if  Greaves,  he  felt,  could  by  any  possibility  be 
an  artist,  he  would  certainly  resemble  Mr.  Grimshaw.  But  he 
had  no  time  in  which  to  think  about  this  idea,  for  Noel  began 
to  ask  him  innumerable  questions. 

Denis  told  him  the  story  of  Boulter's  office,  and  alluded 
briefly  to  his  absolute  incapacity  for  music  whilst  he  had  been 
a prisoner  there.  Little  Sandys  listened  to  this  revelation 
with  deep  interest  and  smiled  his  beautiful  sympathetic  smile. 
4 I was  once  in  a bank,'  he  confided  to  Denis  : 1 banks  are  very 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


261 

bleak  places/  Denis  refrained  from  mentioning  his  father  ; 
Grimshaw’s  presence  was  inimical  to  the  unveiling  of  domestic 
secrets,  and  Noel  knew  from  his  letter  that  he  had  absconded 
from  home. 

‘ Well,  now  we  ’ve  got  you  we  mean  to  keep  you/  said  Noel, 
when  the  chronicle  was  ended.  ‘ I Ve  no  spare  room  here,  but 
I Ve  found  you  an  attic  a few  doors  away.  The  landlord  is  a 
methodistical  beast,  but  it ’s  cheap,  and  there ’s  a big  window 
looking  south  across  the  river,  and  you  'll  have  room  for  a 
piano.  You  ’ll  find  a pale  apology  for  lunch  here  every  day. 
In  the  evenings  I generally  walk  across  to  Soho  and  dine  in  one 
of  the  French  or  Italian  places  and  try  to  persuade  anarchists 
that  I ’m  a detective.  Archibald  always  gives  me  away, 
though  ; he  looks  so  wicked.  When  I ’m  really  rich  I go  to 
the  gallery  of  the  Opera,  whence,  with  the  aid  of  a powerful 
telescope,  I can  see  Grimshaw,  R.A.,  in  a box,  making  love  to 
duchesses  of  heroic  stature.  It ’s  a squalid  life,  mon  Denis, 
and  you  ’ll  soon  get  sick  of  it.  When  you  do,  we  ’ll  disguise  our- 
selves as  troubadours  and  tour  the  world  with  a mechanical 
piano.’ 

4 I shall  never  get  sick  of  it ! ’ said  Denis.  ‘ It ’s  what  I Ve 
wanted  ever  since  I can  remember.  I ’m  going  to  begin  work- 
ing to-morrow.  When  I got  to  Paddington  and  smelt  the 
London  fog,  I suddenly  felt  that  I had  only  played  at  music  all 
these  years.  Now  I mean  to  do  something  serious.  I used  to 
think  that  one  could  only  write  music  and  poetry  or  paint  in 
the  country,  but  I see  already  how  wrong  I was.  Just  to  drive 
through  the  streets  on  a dark  day  makes  one  feel  alive  all  over.’ 

Grimshaw  rose,  looking  somewhat  bored. 

‘ London ’s  a monstrous  pustule,’  he  said  briefly  ; 4 it  cries 
to  Heaven  for  extinction.’  He  strode  heavily  to  the  fireplace 
and  knocked  out  the  ashes  from  his  pipe.  Denis  felt  as  if  a 
cascade  of  icy  water  had  been  poured  down  his  back,  and  hated 
the  painter. 

‘ Oh  ! London ’s  not  such  a bad  old  cesspool,’  said  Noel 
cheerfully  ; ‘ she  looks  rather  grim  when  you  ’re  down  to  your 
last  sovereign,  but  she ’s  full  of  extraordinarily  jolly  people. 
She ’s  full  of  idiots,  too,  of  course,  but  you  needn’t  see  them. 


262  THE  FIRST  ROUND 

You  can  always  find  your  friends  and  you  needn't  bother  about 
acquaintances.' 

‘ Oh  ! ' said  Denis  suddenly : ‘ where  is  Rosalind  ? ' 

Grimshaw  turned  quickly,  stared  at  him,  and  then  looked  at 
Noel. 

‘ Does  he  know  her  ? ' he  asked  in  his  surliest  manner. 

‘ Do  you  ? ’ asked  Denis. 

Grimshaw  stared  at  him  again,  and  then  replied,  ‘ Oh  yes ; 
we  all  know  her.' 

Denis  loathed  him  still  more  heartily.  ‘ Is  she  in  London  ? ' 
he  asked  Noel. 

‘ I don't  know  exactly  where  she  is  at  this  particular 
moment,'  Noel  answered.  ‘ Hurtling  about,  I expect,  in  the 
manner  of  her  sex.'  Denis  thought  this  a very  unsatisfactory 
response  to  his  eager  inquiry  ; Noel,  however,  gave  him  no 
chance  of  reiterating  it,  but  began  to  perform  sleight-of-hand 
feats  with  Grimshaw's  hat,  which  was  of  the  shape  that  one 
vaguely  associates  with  race-meetings  and  seemed  most  un- 
fitting for  an  artist.  Grimshaw  rescued  the  hat  without  smil- 
ing, and  eventually  removed  himself  and  it  from  the  room, 
much  to  the  relief  of  Denis. 

Little  Sandys  came  towards  Denis  and  stood  staring  at  him 
with  his  funny  pale  eyes. 

‘ May  I ask  if  you  are  going  to  take  lessons  ? ' he  said 
timidly. 

Noel  laughed  him  to  scorn. 

* Lessons  ! ' he  cried.  ‘ He 's  a genius,  Archibald,  a purple 
prodigy.  He  ought  to  have  been  turning  the  crowned  heads  of 
every  court  in  Europe  when  he  was  fifteen  instead  of  conjugat- 
ing the  second  aorist  of  tvtttio  at  an  ordinary,  stuffy  English 
public  school.  He 's  a great  man,  a composer,  nom  de  nom  de 
nom  ! By  the  way,  Denis,  have  you  got  any  money  ? It 
doesn’t  matter,  of  course,  if  you  haven’t ; I 'm  rich  beyond  the 
dreams  of  Croesus  ; I 've  twenty-four  pounds  eighteen  shillings 
and  fourpence  in  the  bank  ; only  we  must  make  Archibald  find 
you  some  temporary  and  lucrative  employment  to  support 
your  great  soul  until  you  drown  the  world  with  melody. 
Archibald,  I may  tell  you,  is  a potent  and  terrible  figure  in  the 


THE  FIRST  ROUND  263 

ranks  of  those  who  look  after  English  music.  He  can  crush 
even  a German  artist.’ 

Sandvs  smiled  his  little  deprecating  smile. 

4 You  probably  know  by  this  time  that  all  Noel’s  geese  are 
swans,’  he  said  gently.  ‘ I am  quite  unknown  as  a musician, 
but  I happen  to  be  connected — unfortunately,  as  I think — 
with  the  commercial  side  of  the  art  in  London  ; in  other  words, 
I am  that  last  of  outcasts,  a musical  hack.’ 

* Lord  save  us,  what ’s  that  ? ’ cried  Noel  histrionically. 

The  little  man  took  no  notice  of  him,  but  still  gazed  at  Denis 
with  his  lips  parted  in  that  unwavering  smile. 

‘ I put  on  a frock-coat,  by  request  of  the  heads  of  the  firm, 
and  go  round  every  day  to  read  manuscripts  for  Wallaby,  the 
big  music  publisher,’  he  explained.  ‘ I read  a great  number  of 
ballads  that  are  sent  in  by  all  sorts  of  people  who  aren’t  artists, 
and  I decide  which  of  them  are  likely  to  be  commercially 
successful.  I am  afraid  that  my  decisions  are  not  very  wise, 
from  Wallaby’s  point  of  view  ; still,  for  his  purpose,  a nega- 
tive test  is  as  good  as  a positive.  If  I say  that  a song  has  a 
certain  artistic  merit,  he  knows  that  he  will  be  wise  in  reject- 
ing it ; if  I say  that  it  is  sugared  beastliness,  he  knows  that  it 
will  probably  have  a success  at  one  of  his  damnable  Saturday 
orgies.’  He  spoke  quietly,  without  heat,  looking  up  at  Denis 
with  an  expression  of  shy  confidence. 

‘ It  must  be  hateful  work,’  said  Denis. 

‘ Oh  yes,  it ’s  quite  hateful ! ’ Sandys  replied  with  a little 
laugh.  Noel  patted  his  head. 

‘ Never  mind,  my  child,’  he  said.  ‘ It  won’t  last  for  ever. 
There ’s  a good  time  coming  when  we  ’ll  all  sail  away  for 
Eldorado  in  a big  white  steam-yacht,  and  compose  fugues  and 
symphonies  all  day,  and  walk  in  rose  gardens  all  night  to  the 
sound  of  flutes  and  soft  recorders.  And  Wallaby  shall  come 
with  us.  He  shall  have  a camp-stool  in  the  stoke-hole,  and 
shall  dance,  fatly  naked,  for  our  pleasure.  If  he  refuses,  we  ’ll 
tickle  his  toes  with  hot  tuning-forks.’ 

Sandys  giggled. 

‘ I may  be  able  to  help  you,’  he  said  to  Denis.  ‘ It  would 
give  me  real  pleasure  to  help  some  one  who  was  keen  ; but  I 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


264 

know  nothing  about  your  work  except  what  Noel  has  told  me. 
According  to  him,  you  are  a very  big  swan  indeed.  I under- 
stand that  you  play  as  well  as  compose  ; perhaps  you  would 
be  so  very  kind  as  to  play  something  now.  Noel's  piano  is 
concert  pitch  ; 1 hope  that  will  not  annoy  you.  Could  you 
manage  a little  Beethoven  ? Noel  has  the  sonatas.' 

Denis  felt  at  that  moment  as  if  he  could  play  anything  in  the 
world.  Sandys  requested  timidly  that  he  would  select  a piece 
of  music  which  he  really  loved,  and  indicated  that  it  ought  to 
be  of  sufficient  difficulty  to  show  up  his  faults.  Denis  chose 
the  Waldstein  sonata.  He  felt  that  he  was  in  magnificent 
form  throughout  the  performance,  and  liked  Noel's  piano 
immensely.  He  really  surprised  himself.  Consequently, 
when  he  rose  from  the  piano  to  find  that  Sandys  was  contem- 
plating the  ceiling  with  an  expression  of  intense  melancholy, 
he  felt  sharply  disappointed.  He  had  expected  that  the  little 
man  would  be  full  of  smiles  and  timid  compliments. 

‘ Oh,  you  've  come  on  ! ' cried  Noel. 

Sandys  said  nothing  for  a moment ; then,  without  looking  at 
Denis,  he  said,  ‘ You  're  badly  in  need  of  practice.' 

He  looked  sternly  judicial — seemed,  indeed,  quite  a different 
person  from  the  gentle,  apologetic  creature  that  he  had  been 
before  the  performance  of  the  sonata.  ‘ What  you  want,'  he 
continued,  ‘ is  a course  of  lessons  from  a really  good  man.  And 
you  must  have  them  at  once.'  He  spoke  like  a doctor  address- 
ing a patient.  He  turned  to  Noel.  * I '11  see  Landberger,'  he 
said  ; ‘ he 's  in  London  for  the  Spring.  I 'm  not  certain,  but  I 
think  he  might  take  him  on,  as  a great  favour.' 

Denis's  heart  sank.  He  had  heard  of  the  great  music- 
master.  ‘ I 'm  afraid,  even  if  he  did,  I couldn’t  afford  it,'  he 
said.  ‘ I 'd  better  tell  you  that  I 've  no  money  ; I shall  have 
seventy  or  eighty  pounds  a year  when  I 'm  twenty-one  ; but 
that  won’t  be  for  another  ten  months.' 

Sandys  did  not  seem  to  be  listening.  ‘ Let  us  have  some 
of  your  songs,'  he  said.  f I suppose  you 've  brought  them  to 
London.' 

So  Denis  produced  various  manuscripts  from  his  bag,  and 
played  the  accompaniments  whilst  Noel  sang.  Noel’s  voice 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


265 

had  become  remarkably  good,  and  Denis  was  so  completely 
overcome  with  pleasure  at  hearing  it  once  more  that  he  was 
almost  unable  to  play.  When  they  had  performed  half  a 
dozen  of  the  songs  little  Sandys  seized  the  manuscripts  and 
began  to  turn  the  pages  excitedly. 

‘ But  these  are  new  ! ' he  cried,  almost  in  falsetto.  ' You 
fortunate  boy ! they  're  new,  and  yet  they  may  actually 
become  popular.  The  folk-song  is  only  just  beginning  to  be 
exploited,  and  your  settings  are  admirable,  really  admirable, 
upon  my  word  ! Give  me  the  whole  lot  and  let  me  see  what  I 
can  do  with  them.  They  'll  redeem  Wallaby's  reputation  and 
they  'll  give  you  a splendid  start.' 

He  shook  Denis's  hand  violently.  ‘ No  claptrap  in  these  ! ' 
he  said,  waving  the  songs  in  the  air.  ‘ I 'll  take  them  away 
now,  and  go  through  them  all  this  evening.' 

But  Denis  refused  to  acquiesce  in  this  proposal. 

‘ You  really  can't  have  them  to-night,'  he  said  ; ‘ I want  to 
go  through  them  again  with  Noel  when  we  're  alone.'  He 
turned  to  Noel.  * Why  are  you  painting  pictures  when  you 
can  sing  like  that  ? ' he  said. 

‘ Yes,  that 's  what  I say  to  him,'  cried  little  Sandys.  ‘ He 's 
a renegade,  an  apostate,  a beastly  pluralist.  You  should  hear 
him  sing  the  Don.  You  should  hear  him  at  the  Dichterliebe. 
Instead  of  which,  he  paints  impressionistic  curiosities  of 
Chelsea  bathed  in  lemon  light  and  Trafalgar  Square  in  blood- 
red.' 

Noel  looked  down  at  him  with  a bland  smile. 

‘ It  is  my  misfortune,'  he  said,  ‘ to  be  famed  in  all  great 
arts,  in  two  supreme.  You  may  not  know  it,  but  I write 
beautiful  French  poetry  about  autumn  in  the  woods  and  autumn 
in  the  soul,  and  I once  made  a clay  model  of  Coquelin  aine  that 
was  Pheidian,  my  dears,  absolutely  Pheidian.  All  art,  all  life, 
is  my  domain,  and  till  lately  I earned  two  pounds  a week  by 
teaching  lovely  Latin  languages  to  persons  who  all  appeared  to 
possess  defective  roofs  to  their  mouths.  Such  is  my  tragedy. 
Go  away  and  weep  over  it,  for  Denis  and  I are  yearning  to 
unburden  our  souls  to  one  another,  and  your  presence  irks  us. 
He  shall  come  round  to  you  to-morrow  morning,  bringing  his 


266  THE  FIRST  ROUND 

sheaves  with  him.  Begone,  Archibald,  and  Heaven  protect 
you/ 

Sandys  tapped  Denis’s  waistcoat  solemnly  with  his  fore- 
finger. 

* Stick  to  it ! ’ he  said,  ‘ and  mind — no  claptrap.  You  ’ll  be 
tempted.  Good-bye.  Come  to-morrow ; Noel  will  direct 
you.’ 

He  stood  in  front  of  Denis,  smiling,  and  hesitating  to  depart. 
Noel  picked  him  up  in  his  arms  and  bore  him  calmly  from  the 
room.  ‘ I always  have  to  do  this,’  he  explained,  ‘ he ’s  too 
artistic  to  make  an  abrupt  exit,  and  too  shy  to  make  an 
appropriate  one.’  Little  Sandys  pulled  Noel’s  beard  and 
swore  gently  during  his  removal. 

It  seemed  to  Denis  during  that  evening  that  all  his  woes  had 
ended  for  ever.  To  sit  with  Noel  by  the  fire  in  Chelsea,  where 
Carlyle  and  Rossetti  and  Meredith  and  Swinburne  had  written 
immortal  works,  and  where,  if  you  were  lucky,  you  might 
still  meet  Whistler,  fantastically  garbed,  Mephistophelean,  a 
wraith  from  the  old  artist  life  of  Paris  ; to  sit  with  Noel, 
whose  infinite  variety  was  unchanged  by  toil  and  a beard,  to 
contemplate  the  prospect  of  immense  labour  at  the  art  for 
which  you  were  born,  and  to  know  that  you  had  at  last  really 
escaped  from  Boulter’s  office  and  other  darknesses — could  any- 
thing be  finer  ? The  only  drop  of  bitterness  in  the  flowing 
bowl  of  his  contentment  was  the  fact  that  Noel  became  darkly 
mysterious  with  regard  to  Rosalind — spoke  of  her  as  if  she  had 
altogether  passed  out  of  his  life,  wagged  his  head  gravely,  and 
warned  Denis  that  the  subj  ect  was  a painful  one.  Denis  didn’t 
believe  him.  * You  haven’t  altered,  and  of  course  she  hasn’t,’ 
he  said. 

‘ You  ’ll  know  all  about  her  later,’  Noel  had  answered,  and 
with  this  Denis  had  to  be  content. 

He  was  shown  his  bedroom  and  his  landlord  ; the  former 
was  bare  but  airy,  with  a prospect  of  budding  trees  and  an 
oblique  glimpse  of  the  river  ; the  latter  had  a red  nose  and  a 
perpetual  snuffle.  Then  they  walked  along  the  Embankment 
and  the  Grosvenor  Road,  and  took  an  omnibus  in  Pimlico 


THE  FIRST  ROUND  267 

which  conveyed  them  to  Piccadilly.  They  dined  at  a little 
French  restaurant  in  Soho  ; the  company  was  mixed,  but  the 
food  was  excellent,  and  Denis  had  the  supreme  felicity  of 
renewing  his  acquaintance  with  mille-feuilles  and  babas-au - 
rhum.  He  thought  that  the  restaurant  was  the  most  delightful 
place  in  the  world  ; everything  amused  him — the  majestic 
lady  who  bowed  to  her  clients  as  they  entered  and  went  out, 
whose  magnificence  the  casual  guest  greeted  with  a mispro- 
nounced ‘ bon  soir/  and  the  real  habitue  with  ‘ Madame  ! ’ and 
a low  bow  ; the  pretty  daughter,  with  her  insolent  slanting 
eyes  and  blue-black  hair  and  swinging  hips  ; the  quiet,  grey- 
haired patron,  whose  manners  were  those  of  an  ambassador  on 
his  best  behaviour  ; Alexandre,  who  brought  you  wine  from 
the  shop  at  the  corner  and  looked  like  a Russian  prince  who 
had  been  out  all  night  in  the  rain  ; and  the  company  of  diners, 
a curious  medley  of  French  rastaquoueres,  highly  respectable 
English  burgesses,  and  evil-eyed,  blotch-faced  youths,  the  off- 
scourings of  the  drama  ; some  healthy,  calm-looking  actresses 
and  a couple  of  chorus-girls  whose  crowning  glory,  apparently, 
was  their  teeth  ; self-conscious  adolescents  in  frock-coats  who 
were  bank-clerks  engaged  in  seeing  life  ; goggle-eyed  men  with 
large  bellies  who  might  have  been  company-promoters  or 
editors  or  managers  of  theatres  ; and  a sprinkling  of  anarchists, 
poets,  artists,  young  men  lately  from  Oxford  and  young 
persons  lately  from  Cambridge.  All  this  in  a dense  cloud  of 
smoke  that  blurred  the  fiercely  glaring  lights  which  are  so  dear 
to  the  heart  of  the  minor  French  restaurateur,  and  hung  like  a 
decent  veil  about  the  nakedness  of  the  stucco  cherubim  who 
staggered  beneath  the  weight  of  the  ceiling.  There  was  a 
great  deal  of  unnecessary  and  amusing  noise  : frantic  French 
commands  were  vociferated  down  a flight  of  stairs  that  led  to 
the  kitchen,  and  on  a bad  piano  behind  a curtain  some  mis- 
guided wretch  was  hammering  out  Olivier  Metra’s  Valse  des 
Roses.  Noel  grumbled  at  the  din,  and  asked  Denis  if  he  hated 
it,  but  Denis  found  it  enthralling,  and  wondered  why  the  patron 
looked  so  tired  and  bored,  and  why  Madame’s  face  grew  hard 
when  she  ceased  to  smile  so  brilliantly,  so  gaily.  The  room 
was  like  a picture  by  some  modern  French  painter,  he  thought, 


268 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


all  patches  of  colour  and  broken  shafts  of  vivid  light,  and 
shifting  faces  that  were  very  red  or  very  pale.  He  thought  it  a 
jolly  and  invigorating  place,  though,  perhaps,  it  was  not  the 
one  you  would  choose  if  you  had  a headache  or  wanted  to  think 
out  some  music. 

After  dinner  they  walked  “back  through  the  Soho  streets, 
which  were  crowded  with  most  fantastic  people,  and  smelt  like 
a large  and  smoky  railway  station  in  which  innumerable  boxes_ 
of  oranges  had  been  upset.  They  went  down  Oxford  Street  to 
the  Marble  Arch  and  then  walked  across  the  dusky  park.  The 
fog  had  lifted,  and  beyond  the  trees  Denis  could  see  a few  faint 
stars.  Shadowy  figures  drifted  by  them  as  they  walked,  and 
grotesque  shapes  were  huddled  on  the  seats  near  the  railings. 
The  roar  of  the  traffic  diminished  to  a mysterious  and  persistent 
undertone.  Seen  through  the  trees,  the  rows  of  electric  lamps 
in  the  streets  were  like  festoons  of  strange  pale  fruit. 

They  reached  Chelsea  by  way  of  Sloane  Street.  As  they 
went  along  the  Embankment  a fresh  breeze  from  the  river  blew 
in  their  faces,  and  Denis  discovered  that  even  in  London  you 
could  feel  the  advent  of  spring.  Noel  told  him  the  names 
of  many  famous  people  who  had  lived  in  the  lofty  solemn 
houses  that  lined  the  river-bank,  and  they  paused  to  watch 
the  moon  that  rose  above  the  square  tower  of  the  ancient 
church. 

Then  they  ascended  to  Noel's  studio,  and  went  through  all 
the  songs  that  Denis  had  brought,  and  Denis  inspected  Noel's 
pictures  and  sketches,  which  he  thought  very  clever,  and 
smoked  caporal  cigarettes,  which  at  first  nearly  choked  him. 
The  sketches  and  figure-studies  were  a surprise  to  him,  for  he 
had  not  previously  associated  Noel  with  patient  industry* 
There  were  halfa  dozen  portfolios  in  the  studio  which  were  full 
of  sanguines,  sepias,  and  water-colours,  and  innumerable  chalk 
drawings  on  brown  paper  adorned  the  walls.  Denis  knew 
nothing  about  painting  ; his  only  chance  of  seeing  great 
pictures  had  happened  when  he  had  visited  France  and  Italy 
with  the  Duroys  nearly  five  years  before.  Yet  he  felt  that 
there  was  some  excellent  quality  .in  Noel's  work  of  which  a 
more  mature  j udgment  would  approve.  Although  it  was  often 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


269 

difficult  to  discover  the  exact  meaning  of  some  of  his  pictures 
until  you  retreated  to  the  other  side  of  the  studio,  you  couldn't 
help  realising  that  there  was  nothing  mechanical  or  artful 
about  them  ; they  were  full  of  light,  he  thought — of  real  light, 
not  mere  painted  brightness — they  had  the  luminous  freshness 
of  a sunny,  showery  day  in  spring,  and  were  never  formal  and 
limp,  like  the  pictures  at  the  Red  House,  in  which,  you  felt,  all 
the  straight  lines  had  been  carefully  ruled  and  all  the  colour 
* had  been  piled  on  laboriously  with  smalt  brushes.  His  chalk- 
studies  of  the  nude  were  delightfully  vigorous  ; Denis  was  full 
of  admiration  for  the  way  in  which  he  managed  to  give  a com- 
plete idea  of  contour  with  a single  line  of  varying  breadth. 
The  majority  of  the  studies  were  mere  fragments — bodiless 
legs  and  legless  bodies,  a girl’s  arm  and  shoulder,  the  neck- 
muscles  of  an  athlete — but  they  filled  Denis  with  deep  regret 
that  men  and  women  were  so  degenerate  as  to  walk  the  earth 
in  trousers  and  petticoats,  at  any  rate  during  their  youth.  He 
made  the  amazing  discovery  that  the  ordinary  work-a-day 
human  body  was  a divinely  beautiful  affair.  ‘ Not  invariably/ 
said  Noel ; ‘ haven’t  you  ever  seen  fat  men  bathing  ? ’ But 
Denis  held  that  if  no  one  wore  clothes  no  one  would  dare  to 
grow  fat. 

Then  they  sat  by  the  studio  fire  and  talked  of  the  splendour 
of  ancient  days  and  days  to  come,  of  the  memorable  tour  in 
Italy  and  Mr.  Duroy,  and  of  school.  Of  course  Noel  had  no 
excuse  for  not  writing  to  Denis  ; he  never  wrote  letters  whilst 
he  was  in  Paris,  he  explained  ; and  had  been  working  day  and 
night  for  the  whole  period  of  his  existence  in  France  except 
when  he  went  off  on  long  walking-tours.  He  had  scoured  the 
whole  country  from  the  Vosges  to  Marseilles,  and  had  pene- 
trated, unaided  by  railways,  into  Germany,  Spain,  and  Italy. 
He  had  made  some  money  by  teaching  English  to  French 
students  and  commercial  persons,  and  after  a long  course  of 
Parisian  Art  Schools  had  come  to  London  in  search  of  old 
friends  and  new  experiences.  The  artistic  facility  that  seemed 
to  be  the  peculiar  heritage  of  any  member  of  the  Duroy  family 
had  developed  very  swiftly  in  him  when  he  left  school ; he  had 
studied  singing  seriously  for  a while,  as  Arbuthnot  had  in- 


270 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


formed  Denis  long  ago,  and  it  was  actually  true  that  he  had  a 
considerable  gift  for  sculpture.  But  now  painting  claimed  his 
undivided  allegiance,  and  singing  had  become  merely  an 
amusement  for  his  leisure. 

After  all,  thought  Denis,  his  own  theory  was  vindicated  ; 
splendid  people  didn’t  change,  they  only  mellowed  to  a greater 
brilliance,  and  after  a long  absence  you  could  take  up  your 
friendship  with  them  on  exactly  the  old  terms.  As  he  sat 
opposite  Noel,  watching  the  gestures  that  he  had  known  so 
well  and  listening  to  familiar  inflexions  of  his  voice,  countless 
scenes  from  the  old  days  at  Parnasse  were  born  again  in  his 
mental  vision  : he  saw  Mr.  Duroy,  vast  and  benevolent,  sway- 
ing from  side  to  side  as  he  played  so  softly,  so  masterfully,  and 
Rosalind,  with  her  firm  white  chin  pressed  to  the  shining  wood 
of  the  violin,  and  her  pigtail,  and  her  eyes  that  were  dark  and 
dreamy.  . . . Once  again  he  heard  the  clash  01  foils,  the  noise 
of  sliding  feet,  and  the  dry  click  of  castanets.  He  remembered 
Rosalind’s  laughter  as  they  set  up  the  French  notice-board  in 
her  garden,  and  the  writhings  and  frenzied  barks  of  Narcisse 
when  he  was  held  up  to  read  it.  Dear,  absurd  sights  and 
sounds  ! The  most  frivolous  of  them,  somehow,  didn’t  seem 
to  stand  by  itself,  but  had  a background,  as  it  were,  of  grave 
music — a fugue  or  a prelude  of  Bach,  a solemn  movement  from 
the  sonatas  of  Beethoven.  How  one’s  memory,  even,  seemed 
to  be  changed  by  the  actual  condition  of  one’s  life  ! At 
Boulter’s  the  thought  of  old  days  had  been  intolerable,  a 
torture  to  be  avoided  grimly  ; but  now  it  had  risen  above  any 
aching  bitterness  of  regret,  even  though  Mr.  Duroy  was  dead 
and  Parnasse  the  prey  of  the  poultry-farmer. 

He  was  aroused  from  such  reveries  by  Noel,  who  accused 
him  of  wanting  to  go  to  sleep.  Denis  denied  this  charge  with 
indignation.  ‘ And  if  you  won’t  tell  me  about  Rosalind  you 
might  tell  me  about  Narcisse,’  he  said.  Noel  replied  that 
Narcisse  was  still  alive  ; he  had  grown  old  and  wise,  and  no 
longer  moaned  at  good  music,  but  in  appearance  he  was  un- 
changed. 

‘ And  where  is  he  ? ’ Denis  asked. 

‘ With  Rosalind,  back  o’  beyond,  back  o’  beyond,’  said  Noel, 


THE  FIRST  ROUND  271 

with  a mocking  smile.  And  though  Denis  returned  to  the 
attack  he  could  elicit  nothing  more. 

They  sat  up  till  two  o'clock,  in  order,  as  Noel  said,  to 
christen  the  new  latchkey.  At  last,  when  Denis  was  on  the 
point  of  departure,  Noel  said,  ‘ I suppose  you  are  going  to  send 
a postcard  to  your  disconsolate  parent  ? ' 

Denis's  face  became  inscrutable  as  that  of  a granite  Pharaoh. 
‘ I suppose  so,'  he  said  ; 4 though  I don't  know  how  I should. 
He  'll  never  have  anything  to  do  with  me  again.  I left  him  a 
letter  with  my  address  in  it.' 

‘ You  did  ! ' cried  Noel.  4 We  shall  have  him  up  here  to- 
morrow, and  he  'll  beat  my  pale,  passionate  body  with  his 
beastly  big  stick.  What 's  the  point,  anyhow,  of  levanting 
from  home  to  become  a genius  if  you  leave  your  address  behind 
you  ? It 's  against  all  the  rules  of  romance.' 

‘Oh!  I don't  think  he  'll  come  here,'  said  Denis. 

Something  in  his  voice  seemed  to  startle  Noel.  He  came 
over  to  Denis  and  gripped  his  shoulders  with  his  strong  hands. 

‘ You  feel  that  you  've  scored  him  off  finally  this  time,  don't 
you,  Denis  ? ' he  said. 

p Denis  writhed.  * Yes,  no — I don't  know,'  he  said.  ‘ I 'd 
really  forgotten  all  about  that.' 

Noel  increased  the  pressure  of  his  fingers.  ‘ Observe  me,' 
he  said,  ‘ give  ear  unto  the  oracle.  Don't  go  trying  to  score 
him  off  still  more  by  doing  all  sorts  of  things  just  because  you 
know  he  would  hate  them  if  he  knew.  Oh,  I know  my  Denis, 
I believe  ! If  you 've  done  with  him  for  ever,  you 've  done 
with  him,  and  there 's  no  earthly  good  in  being  bitter.  Bitter- 
ness is  the  one  thing  that  rots  everything,  especially  your  kind 
of  work.  You  '11  have  to  toil  like  ten  giants.  And  now  the 
oracle  has  spoken,  and  you  may  go  to  the  devil.  I 'm  sleepy.' 

4 Yes,  I 'm  going  to  work,'  said  Denis. 


272 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


XXX 

EARLY  next  morning  he  went  to  the  abode  of  Sandys 
with  an  armful  of  manuscripts.  The  musician  lived 
in  a room  near  the  World's  End,  which  contained  little  besides 
himself  except  a grand  piano  and  some  chairs  that  were  piled 
with  music.  He  greeted  Denis  with  enthusiasm,  took  off  his 
coat,  rolled  up  his  shirt-sleeves,  and  sat  down  at  the  piano  ; 
but  in  spite  of  these  athletic  preliminaries  he  played  with 
great  delicacy — with  too  great  a delicacy,  sometimes,  Denis 
thought — but  at  any  rate  he  was  a perfectly  accurate  reader. 
He  was  exceedingly  deferential  to  Denis.  ‘ Is  that  your  con- 
ception of  the  part  ? ' he  would  demand  at  frequent  intervals, 
with  a shy  smile,  rubbing  his  thin  arms  with  his  bony  fingers, 
and  he  would  listen  to  the  suggestions  of  the  composer  with 
profound  attention.  Yet,  at  moments,  he  was  severe  ; three 
of  the  songs  were  condemned  as  blatant,  and  when  he  indicated 
their  defects  Denis  wondered  how  they  could  ever  have  seemed 
anything  but  detestable. 

Little  Sandys  worked  at  the  songs  for  nearly  two  hours  ; 
then  he  rose  from  the  piano  and  announced  his  intention  of 
taking  them  at  once  to  Mr.  Wallaby.  He  became  hugely 
embarrassed  when  Denis  began  to  thank  him.  ‘ I 've  done 
nothing  yet ; there  may  be  difficulties,'  he  protested.  ‘ Wal- 
laby is  sometimes  as  blind  to  his  own  advantage  as  can  be 
possible.  But  I 'll  do  my  best.'  He  spoke  of  the  great  Land- 
berger  ; a meeting  must  be  arranged  between  him  and  Denis 
as  soon  as  possible.  ‘ He 's  a queer  fellow,'  he  explained. 

‘ You  'll  think  him  rather  rude  and  er — even  vulgar,  but  he  's 
the  man  for  you.  A single  course  of  lessons  from  him  '11  do 
wonders,  and  he  has  a charming  wife.' 

They  walked  together  to  Sloane  Square,  where  Sandys 
plunged  into  the  mephitic  vaults  of  the  Underground  Railway. 
On  the  way  there  Denis  spoke  of  Griinshaw.  ‘ A dour  beast/ 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


273 


said  Sandys,  ‘ but  good,  oh,  very  good  in  his  line.  Quite  the 
best  of  the  younger  men.  Knows  how  to  use  his  imagination 
— and  he 's  got  one.  Yes,  indeed  ! — without  painting  alle- 
gories. He 's  a magnificent  etcher,  too,  but  tries  to  do  too 
much  in  that  way.  The  size  of  some  of  his  plates  ! ' After 
an  interval  of  silence  he  confided  to  Denis  that,  in  his  opinion, 
much  of  Grimshaw’s  surliness  was  due  to  an  unhappy  marriage. 
‘ A model,  you  know ; a strapping,  black-browed,  handsome 
baggage  with  the  temper  of  a fiend,  and,  on  occasions,  the 
tongue  of  a fishwife.  I 've  had  the  pleasure  of  hearing  her 
descanting  on  her  theories  of  life  to  Grimshaw.  Married  her 
when  he  was  a student ; nearly  wrecked  his  work  altogether  ; 
he  has  only  got  near  greatness  since  they  were  separated.  In 
spite  of  his  surliness  he 's  a good  fellow,  I believe.  I Ve  heard 
of  several  very  generous  things  that  he  has  done  for  other 
painters.  He  was  the  man,  you  know,  who  put  Wintermeyer 
the  dealer  through  his  own  window.  Great  scandal,  of  course, 
but  it  helped  both  of  them  so  much,  commercially  speaking, 
that  we  all  concluded  it  to  be  a case  of  collusive  action,  in  spite 
of  the  glass  splinter  in  Wintermeyer's  behind.' 

Denis  liked  Sandys,  partly  for  the  little  man's  own  sake, 
partly  on  account  of  his  deep  admiration  for  Noel.  ‘ I don't 
know  what  it  is  about  him,  I suppose  it's  personal  magnetism,' 
said  Sandys,  ‘ but  he  makes  all  other  people  seem  pale  ghosts. 
If  you  won't  think  me  a traitor  for  saying  it,  I may  tell  you 
that  I don't  think  he  'll  ever  be  a great  painter,  and  I know  he 
won't  be  a musician  ; he 's  irresponsible,  he 's  unstable  as 
water,  he  doesn't  care.  Every  artist  must,  to  a certain  extent, 
he  self-centred,  and  he 's  not  got  a bit  of  that — not  a tiny  bit ! 
He 's  one  of  those  rare  creatures  who  occasionally  appear  in 
the  world  to  make  it  brighter — unconsciously,  without  any 
effort — for  other  people.  Even  if  you  merely  sit  in  his  studio 
for  an  hour  when  he  is  painting  hard  and  won't  speak,  you  go 
away  feeling — feeling  like  an  electric  battery  that  has  been 
recharged.' 

It  was  a handsome  tribute,  and  a just  one,  Denis  felt. 

‘ I know  two  other  people  who  were  like  that ' he  began. 

‘ I only  know  one  other,  and  she 's  a woman,'  said  Sandys. 
s 


274 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


Then  he  looked  at  Denis,  and  blushed  so  obviously  that  Denis 
almost  laughed.  They  had  reached  the  door  of  Sloane  Square 
station,  and  the  little  musician  nodded  to  Denis,  and  dived 
into  the  interior.  ‘ See  you  again  soon  ! 9 he  cried  over  his 
shoulder. 

Denis  began  to  feel  that  his  particular  star  was  in  the 
ascendant.  He  had  only  been  in  London  for  a few  hours,  yet  he 
was  already  perfectly  at  home  • he  was  practically  living  with 
Noel ; his  songs  were  on  the  way  to  a publisher,  and  he  was  on 
his  way  to  hire  a piano  that  would  aid  in  the  production  of 
something  finer  than  he  had  ever  before  achieved.  His  soul 
sang  within  him  as  he  walked  ; he  seemed  to  tread' on  air,  and 
felt  atrociously  self-confident.  Everything  delighted  his  eye  : 
the  shifting  crowd  in  the  streets,  the  spring  sunshine  that 
flooded  the  parks  with  soft  light,  the  vivid  colours  of  the 
omnibuses — how  enormously  splendid  it  all  was  ! What  a fool 
he  had  been  to  waste  more  than  half  a previous  year  in  the 
dungeons  of  the  unlamented  Boulter  ! Now  that  one  felt  life 
tingling  in  every  nerve  of  one's  body,  one  realised  that  to  be 
sunk  in  hopeless  apathy  was  an  actual  crime,  a sin  against 
Nature  for  which  there  should  be  no  forgiveness.  This  was 
reality,  at  last,  and  he  had  lived  so  long  in  a vague  land  of 
nightmare ! 

He  hired  a grand  piano,  after  trying  several,  and  being 
complimented  on  his  touch  by  a sleek  personage  in  beautiful 
raiment  who  presided  over  the  instruments.  He  returned  to 
Chelsea,  warned  his  landlord  of  its  advent,  and  ran  up  the 
stairs  to  Noel's  studio.  He  flung  open  the  door,  and  then  stood 
on  the  threshold  as  if  some  strange  enchantment  had  been  laid 
upon  him. 

A girl  who  was  quite  naked  was  standing  on  a kind  of  dais 
beneath  the  big  window.  Her  head  was  turned  away  from 
Denis,  her  right  knee  was  bent,  and  her  left  hand  rested  on  her 
hip.  Even  in  that  amazing  moment  Denis  realised  that  the 
attitude  was  extremely  graceful.  She  did  not  move  a muscle 
when  he  entered  so  abruptly,  but  said  something  to  Noel,  who 
was  working  at  the  other  side  of  the  studio. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


275 


Noel  looked  up,  saw  Denis,  and  in  a voice  of  cheerful  un- 
concern called  to  him  to  come  in.  Denis  felt  that  he  would 
have  given  his  soul  to  flee,  but  he  reflected  instantaneously 
that  if  you  lived  among  artists  this  was  one  of  the  queer 
things  that  you  had  to  put  up  with.  He  closed  the  door  and 
entered,  keeping  well  out  of  range  of  the  model's  eyes.  He 
had  once  heard  his  father  describe  the  sensations  which 
attended  a medical  student's  first  sight  of  an  operation,  and 
felt  that  his  own  at  that  moment  were  very  similar.  He  was 
acutely  uncomfortable.  Noel  did  not  seem  to  observe  his 
condition.  ‘ You  can  stand  at  ease,  Topsy,’  he  said  to  the 
model ; 1 this  is  Mr.  Yorke,  who 's  going  to  live  with  me. 
He 's  a musician,  not  a painter,  so  you  won't  hate  him.' 

The  lady  called  Topsy  relaxed  her  limbs,  turned  her  head 
and  inspected  Denis. 

4 Musician  ! ' she  said  in  a high,  brisk  voice,  with  a decided 
London  accent ; 4 I just  love  music  myself,  Mr.  Yorke,  though 
you  mightn't  think  it  to  look  at  me.  Those  musical  plays 
fairly  match  my  style.  Have  you  seen  the  Circus  Girl  ? ' 

As  soon  as  she  spoke  it  seemed  to  Denis  almost  natural  that 
she  should  be  standing  there  with  no  clothes  on  her  beautiful, 
slender  body,  and  that  he  should  be  looking  at  her.  Her 
voice  was  so  cheerfully  commonplace  that  he  nearly  forgot  his 
embarrassment. 

‘ I only  came  to  London  yesterday/  he  answered. 

She  nodded  comprehension  of  this  fact,  looking  at  him  with 
an  air  of  cool  yet  good-natured  patronage.  ‘ Lived  in  the 
country  ? ' she  said.  ‘ The  country 's  all  right  for  a day — 
Epping  Forest  and  a lunch  basket,  and  that — but  give  me  old 
Smoky  for  real  sport.  Chelsea 's  dull,  and  you  can’t  get  a 'bus 
unless  you  go  to  King’s  Road.  I wouldn’t  live  here  if  it 
wasn’t  for  my  profession.  I 'd  be  off  to  London  in  the  inside 
of  half  a minute.' 

Denis  hardly  noticed  the  peculiarity  of  her  last  remark.  He 
was  thinking  that  her  face  was  quite  unworthy  of  her  figure  ; 
it  was  pretty,  but  commonplace  and  too  highly  coloured,  and 
her  mouth  was  too  large.  That  she  had  no  objection  to  a 
stranger's  presence  in  the  room  seemed  to  him  quite  dreadful, 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


276 

but  at  any  rate  she  was  obviously  good-natured,  though  rather 
foolish.  When  Noel  asked  her  if  she  would  like  a cigarette, 
she  uttered  an  affected  little  scream  that  reminded  Denis  of 
Cecilia. 

‘ As  if  you  didn't  know  quite  well,  Mr.  Tellier,  that  I can't 
abide  to  see  a lady  smoking  ! ' she  said.  ‘ Don't  you  hate  it, 
Mr.  Yorke — to  see  it,  I mean  ? I s'pose  I 'm  old-fashioned, 
but  I never  think  it  looks  respectable.' 

That  she  should  talk  of  respectability  in  her  present  circum- 
stances seemed  to  Denis  very  remarkable,  but  Noel,  who  was 
squeezing  some  paint  on  his  palette,  did  not  even  smile. 

‘ I don’t  think  I 've  ever  seen  a woman  smoking,'  said  Denis. 

‘ My  word  ! ' said  Topsy ; ‘ you  are  from  the  country,  aren't 
you  ? ' 

‘ Attention,  please  ! ' said  Noel. 

Instantly  she  assumed  the  graceful  pose  that  he  needed,  and 
then,  without  moving  her  head,  continued  to  talk  to  Denis. 

* Then  I bet  you  haven't  met  a model  before,'  she  said  ; rI 
thought  you  hadn't  seen  an  ongsomble  when  I heard  you  come 
into  the  studio.  I can  tell  in  a minute  what  any  one 's  like  by 
the  way  they  come  in  when  I 'm  posing.  Not  that  I allow 
people  to  come  in,  you  know  ; you  quite  startled  me,  I can  tell 
you,  for  Mr.  Tellier  won't  have  any  one  near  him  as  a rule 
when  he 's  working.' 

‘ Oh,  I 'm  very  sorry,'  said  Denis.  1 Would  you  like  me  to 
go,  Noel  ? ' 

But  Noel,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  his  canvas  and  his  diction 
impeded  by  a large  brush  that  he  held  in  his  mouth,  protested 
heartily  against  this  suggestion.  ‘ You  don’t  put  me  off,'  he 
said;  'it's  only  a painter  that  I really  can't  stand  near  me  when 
I 'm  at  work.  Grimshaw  took  it  into  his  head  for  about  a 
month  that  he  could  only  print  etchings  at  night,  and  used  to 
lounge  about  here  all  day  long.' 

‘ Oh  ! Mr.  Grimshaw  ! ' said  Topsy  disdainfully.  ‘ He 's 
worse  than  ever  ; keeps  you  at  it  till  you  feel  as  if  you 'd  break 
in  half  if  any  one  touched  you,  and  never  says  a word  except 
“ Damn  it  all,  can't  you  stand  still  ? " He 's  a terror,  he  is  I 
It 's  a pity  you  can’t  draw  like  him,  though.' 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


277 


Tellier  grinned,  but  did  not  reply  to  this  candid  criticism. 
Denis  went  over  to  look  at  his  canvas.  It  seemed  to  his  partial 
eye  that  the  picture  was  a wonderful  work  of  art ; the  girl's 
figure,  silhouetted  against  a black  background,  was  painted 
with  a breadth  and  vigour  that  seemed  almost  coarse  until  he 
retreated  from  it  a few  yards,  and  then  all  the  delicate  outline 
and  supple  curves  dawned  delightfully  on  his  vision  ; the 
beauty  of  that  quiet,  untroubled  dignity  of  pose  was  revealed 
to  him,  and  as  he  looked  from  the  canvas  to  the  model  he  saw 
a dozen  perfections  of  line  and  light  and  shade  to  which  he  had 
been  blind.  But  the  face  in  the  picture  was  the  face  of  Topsy, 
sanguine,  good-natured,  vulgar  ; and  this  distressed  Denis. 
Topsy's  hand,  too,  looked  red  and  coarse  against  the  warm 
pallor  of  her  body,  and  Noel  had  reproduced  this  contrast  with 
great  fidelity.  Denis  would  have  liked  to  protest,  but  felt 
that  this  was  impossible  whilst  Topsy  was  present. 

Meanwhile  Topsy  continued  to  talk  in  an  animated  manner, 
which  contrasted  funnily  with  her  statuesque  attitude.  ‘ You 
see  those  things  on  the  wall,  Mr.  Yorke,'  she  said  ; ‘ they  're 
all  me — joints  and  necks  and  legs  and  shoulders.  They  're 
the  best  Mr.  Tellier 's  done  ; he  can’t  finish  a picture  to  save 
his  life,  but  he  knows  all  about  sketching  the  figure.  Yes,  I 'm 
all  there,  as  you  might  say,  in  sections  ; they'd  fit  together  like 
a puzzle  and  you 'd  find  Me.  Do  you  think  it 's  bold  of  a girl 
to  stand  for  the  figure,  Mr,  Yorke  ? Some  think  it 's  dread- 
ful ; there  was  a young  man  who  lived  in  a boarding-house 
where  I stayed  once  who  was  real  fond  of  me  and  used  to  take 
me  to  Earl's  Court  Exhibition  and  sent  me  chocolates  and 
wanted  to  marry  me,  but  when  I told  him  how  I earned  my 
living  he  cried,  and  said  it  was  all  over,  and  called  me  all  sorts 
of  names,  so  I boxed  his  ears  and  remained  single,  but  I was 
sorry  at  first,  for  he  was  quite  genteel  and  a clerk  in  one  of  the 
big  banks  in  the  Strand.  And  he  married  a girl  on  the  stage 
who  played  boy's  parts  in  the  pantomime  and  treated  him 
shocking,  and  he  stole  the  bank's  money  and  got  locked  up, 
and  sometimes  I feel  it  was  my  fault.  But  there  ! it 'd  be  a 
poor  sort  of  world  if  you  had  to  arrange  your  profession  to  suit 
the  taste  of  every  young  fellow  you  met,  and  if  he 'd  had  any 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


278 

sense  he ’d  have  known  that  respectable  people  don’t  become 
wicked  just  because  they  haven’t  any  clothes  on.  You  ’re 
always  yourself,’  concluded  Miss  Topsy,  ‘ and  you  can’t  get 
away  from  it.’ 

Denis  listened  to  these  agreeable  revelations  with  interest. 
Women  certainly  were  very  odd  creatures.  Topsy,  who  stood 
naked  in  the  presence  of  strange  men,  worshipped  a queer  god 
of  respectability,  and  spoke  with  a Cockney  accent,  seemed  to 
him  kinder  and  more  human  than  most  of  her  sex  whom  he  had 
previously  encountered.  Cecilia,  of  course,  would  think  her 
dreadful,  but  in  spite  of  Cecilia’s  Chopin  nocturnes,  and  melt- 
ing eyes,  and  languorous  graces,  Topsy  was  indubitably  her 
superior  in  vitality  and  good  sense.  The  Vicar’s  wife,  if  she 
could  have  entered  the  room  at  that  moment,  would  have 
bellowed  like  an  insane  cow  and  swooned  on  the  threshold  ; 
nevertheless,  contrasted  with  Topsy,  she  would  have  seemed 
vulgar,  actually  vulgar,  though  she  spoke  the  mincing  English 
of  her  aristocratic  forerunners,  and  was  morally  so  exalted 
a being  that  even  her  husband  found  it  difficult  to  remember 
that  she  had  ever  been  guilty  of  an  undignified  attitude. 
Topsy  gave  you  the  impression  that  she  had  her  way  to 
make  through  a not  too  sympathetic  world,  and  had  there- 
fore no  time  to  waste  in  sickly  pretences  of  any  kind. 
She  was  quite  genuine,  perfectly  frank  ; her  body  was  her 
means  of  livelihood  ; why  should  she  pretend  that  it  didn’t 
exist,  or  that  it  was  a mysterious  secret  to  be  mentioned  with 
breathless  awe  ? She  informed  Denis  of  her  methods  of  keep- 
ing it  healthy — calisthenics  and  a cold  bath  every  morning  all 
the  year  round,  fresh  air  and  no  late  midnights.  ‘ I can’t 
afford  to  get  run  down,’  she  said  ; ‘ and  nothing  runs  you  down 
like  worry.  I don’t  worry  and  so  I don’t  touch  whisky. 
London  water ’s  my  tap,  and  stout  for  a treat  on  birthdays.  I 
don’t  know  why  I tell  you  all  this,  Mr.  Yorke,  I don’t  suppose 
it  interests  you  and  you  can’t  put  it  in  a book.  Mr.  Surtees’s 
brother — he ’s  a journalist,  writes  for  no  end  of  papers — wrote 
a book  called  Charming  Chelsea  and  put  me  in,  under  another 
name  of  course  ; but  nobody  recognised  me — I didn’t  myself 
— and  he  was  very  angry.  You  can’t  put  me  into  a bit  of 


THE  FIRST  ROUND  279 

music,  can  you,  Mr.  Yorke,  unless  you  write  a musical 
comedy  ? ’ 

Denis  answered  that  he  supposed  he  couldn’t,  and  did  not 
reveal  his  real  thought, — that  the  vision  of  her  body  as  he 
entered  the  room  was  indelibly  printed  in  his  mind,  and  would 
eventually  go  into  his  music ; indirectly  of  course,  but 
inevitably,  like  everything  lovely  in  life. 

4 She ’s  quite  a good  sort,’  said  Noel,  when  Topsy  had 
departed,  4 but  she ’s  so  pleased  with  her  figure,  her  life,  and 
her  conversational  powers,  that  I ’m  afraid  she  ’ll  grow  fat. 
Did  you  ever  meet  any  one  in  the  least  like  her,  Denis  ? ’ 

4 No,’  said  Denis.  He  blushed  ingenuously.  4 And  I never 
saw  any  one — like  that,’  he  added. 

Noel  laughed. 

4 Oh,  that ’s  nothing,’  he  said,  4 At  least,’  he  added,  4 it ’s 
nothing  if  you  ’re  a painter.  I forgot  that  you  weren’t,  I 
suppose.’ 

4 It ’s  nothing  if  you  ’re  any  kind  of  an  artist,’  said  Denis 
gravely.  4 But  it ’s  a pity  that  her  body  and  head  don’t 
match.’ 

4 He ’s  beginning  to  take  notice,’  remarked  Tellier  to  his 
picture.  ‘ I say,  Denis,  suppose  that  your  stern  progenitor 
had  arrived  whilst  Topsy  was  here  ! I must  have  a new  bolt 
put  on  that  door.’ 

4 I wish  he  had,’  said  Denis.  ‘ It  would  have  broadened  his 
mind.  It ’s  narrow  minds  that  make  the  world  wretched. 
I ’m  so  hungry,  and  I ’ve  ordered  a concert  grand — a real 
beauty  ! ’ He  sat  down  in  front  of  Noel’s  piano  and  evoked  a 
travesty  of  the  Walkuren-ritt.  Then  he  sprang  up. 

4 Life  is  splendid  ! ’ he  announced.  4 I always  felt  that  it 
ought  to  be,  and  now  I know.  I should  like  to  live  a thousand 
years.  Work,  and  seeing  people,  and  walking  about  London — 
that ’s  all  I want ! ’ 

Noel  was  amused  by  this  outburst  of  the  usually  tranquil 
Denis.  He  looked  at  him  for  a moment.  4 Well,  if  that ’s  all 
that  you  want,  it ’s  all  right,’  he  said  cryptically.  He  ignored 
the  light  of  challenge  in  Denis’s  eyes,  and  added,  ‘ Apropos  of 
seeing  people,  a friend  of  mine — a painter — wants  us  to  go  to 


280 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


tea  in  a studio  in  Hampstead  this  afternoon.  You  had  better 
come  ; the  piano  won’t  arrive  till  this  evening.  They  ’re 
really  rather  nice  people,’  he  concluded,  with  a peculiar  grin, 
‘ and  the  only  Archibald  will  be  there.’ 

4 I love  the  only  Archibald,’  said  Denis,  ‘ and  I want  to  come 
to  Hampstead.’ 

‘ All  right,’  said  Noel.  4 We  ’ll  start  at  four.’  And  he 
began  to  sing  Ich  grolle  nicht  and  to  produce  the  various  assets 
of  a fragmentary  luncheon  from  his  cupboard. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


281 


XXXI 

SHORTLY  before  the  hour  appointed  for  their  departure 
to  Hampstead  Denis  went  to  his  room,  and  found,  not 
the  piano,  but  a letter  in  an  ornate  and  unfamiliar  handwriting 
which  was  stamped  with  the  Wychcombe  postmark.  When 
he  opened  it  he  discovered,  to  his  great  surprise,  that  it  con- 
tained eight  five-pound  notes  and  half  a sheet  of  writing-paper. 

His  first  thought  was  that  Gustus  had  been  moved  to  further 
extremes  of  generosity,  but  when  he  looked  at  the  note  he 
realised  his  mistake.  ‘ You  'll  think  me  worse  than  ever/  it 
ran  * ‘ I can't  help  writing  to  say  that  I was  listening  outside 
the  door  when  you  were  talking  to  Augustus  on  Sunday, 
because  I somehow  knew  that  you  were  going  away.  Do 
keep  this  and  I wish  it  was  more,  but  it 's  all  I can  get  at 
present — and  try  and  forgive  yours,  C.  A.' 

Cecilia  ! Only  Cecilia,  he  thought,  would  be  capable  of 
listening  at  a keyhole  to  a private  conversation  and  of  confess- 
ing afterwards.  How  decent  she  was,  in  her  queer,  disingenu- 
ous way  ! The  eight  five-pound  notes  probably  represented  a 
serious  act  of  self-denial,  for  though  Father  Abrahams  was 
very  liberal  towards  his  children,  he  believed  in  teaching  them 
business  habits,  and  never  permitted  either  of  them  to  antici- 
pate the  quarterly  allowance.  Cecilia,  no  doubt,  had  made  up 
her  mind  to  wear  the  scarlet  hat  for  two  months  after  it  was 
out  of  fashion.  Denis  wrote  her  a grateful  letter  in  which  he 
hinted  that  he  was  already  well  on  the  road  to  extreme 
opulence,  enclosed  the  five-pound  notes,  and  posted  it  on  his 
way  back  to  Noel's  studio. 

The  journey  to  Hampstead  was  performed  on  the  top  of 
various  omnibuses,  a method  of  travelling  which  seemed  to 
Denis  one  of  the  most  delightful  in  the  world,  and  compar- 
able only  with  gondolas  and  Arabian  steeds.  Noel  was  in  the 
highest  spirits  ; he  warbled,  he  beamed  extensively  on  London, 


282 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


he  addressed  superlative  compliments  to  the  statues  which 
they  passed.  Supremely  indifferent  to  the  exigencies  of 
fashion,  he  wore  a shaggy  grey  suit  and  a soft  hat  which  had 
lost  both  contour  and  hue  in  the  process  of  ages,  talked  with 
point  and  ease  to  the  drivers,  and  smoked  his  short  black  pipe. 
Denis  thought  him  magnificent ; he  made  such  a splendid 
contrast  with  the  neat,  sombre-garbed,  shaven  persons  who 
crept  about  the  streets.  Though  London  was  Life,  it  seemed 
to  Denis  that  a great  number  of  its  inhabitants  looked  as  if 
they  were  semi-animate.  If  they  only  knew  what  they  were 
missing  ! 

Hampstead,  with  its  quiet  streets,  and  old  houses,  and  little 
gardens  where  primroses  gleamed  beneath  dwarf  willows, 
seemed  a hundred  years  behind  the  rest  of  London.  He  would 
not  have  been  in  the  least  surprised  to  see  a gentleman  in  knee- 
breeches  and  a wig  taking  snuff  at  the  street  corner  ; but  its 
charm  did  not  make  him  waver  in  his  enthusiasm  for  Chelsea. 
It  was  a place  for  peaceful  retirement,  he  thought,  for  leisured 
reading  and  a constitutional  at  a certain  hour,  and  not  an 
arena  where  you  wrestled  with  the  gigantic  problems  of  your 
art.  But  it  was  certainly  unique,  and  its  air,  on  that  balmy 
spring  evening,  made  you  think  of  ploughed  land  where  the 
young  corn  had  begun  to  push  its  way  through  the  rich  soil,  and 
of  purple  uplands,  and  birds  that  sang  energetic  serenades  in 
very  tall  trees. 

The  first  thing  that  Denis  recognised  as  they  entered  the 
twilight  studio  in  Church  Row  was  the  figure  of  little  Sandys, 
who  was  sitting  on  the  edge  of  a high  chair  and  eating  a large 
slice  of  cake.  There  were  two  other  persons  in  the  room, — 
women,  as  he  observed  with  some  surprise,  for  Noel  had  not 
led  him  to  infer  that  members  of  the  other  sex  would  be 
present.  Little  Sandys  waved  his  slice  of  cake  and  said 
‘ Hullo  ! , but  did  not  rise  from  his  chair.  One  of  the  female 
figures  came  towards  him.  Denis  could  see  that  she  was  no 
longer  young  ; her  abundant  hair  was  almost  white,  but  she 
had  the  figure  of  a girl  of  twenty  and  extraordinarily  keen, 
interested  eyes. 

Noel  propelled  Denis  towards  her.  ‘ Amory/  he  said, 


THE  FIRST  ROUND  283 

‘ I 've  brought  you  the  young  person  I told  you  about.  Denis, 
this  is  Miss  Amory — Mr.  Denis  Yorke.' 

There  was  a cry  from  the  other  end  of  the  studio,  a cry  in 
which  joy  and  incredulity  were  strangely  blended,  and  some 
one  came  forward  very  swiftly.  It  was  the  other  female  figure. 
Even  as  he  shook  hands  with  Miss  Amory  he  felt  that  something 
tremendous  was  about  to  happen. 

4 Noel,  it  can't  be  ! Is  it  really  ? ' cried  a voice  by  his  side, 
and  then,  whilst  he  was  still  looking  into  Miss  Amory 's  face, 
he  knew.  A mist  seemed  to  obscure  all  his  vision,  and  once 
again  he  saw  the  old  room  at  Parnasse,  and  heard  the  dry 
click  of  castanets  and  the  staccato  rhythm  of  a Spanish  dance. 
When  the  mist  cleared  away  he  found  himself  standing  with  her 
hand  in  his,  staring  stupidly  at  her  eyes,  and  realising  that  they 
had  not  altered,  that  they  were  still  dark  as  a lane  at  midnight, 
and  that  a light  grew  and  grew  in  them  like  the  lamp  of  an 
ascending  diver.  . . . He  could  find  nothing  to  say,  and  when 
she  called  him  4 mon  Denis,'  he  felt  for  a moment  as  if  the 
slender  fabric  of  his  self-control  was  about  to  collapse  utterly. 

He  realised  that  she  was  speaking.  4 I always  knew  that 
we  should  meet  again  ! ' she  said,  very  gently.  4 But  Noel 
never  told  me  that  his  new  friend  was — you  ! ' She  smiled — it 
was  the  swift,  infectious  smile  that  he  remembered  so  well. 
4 He  said  that  his  friend  had  a black  beard  and  played  the 
organ  ! ' 

‘ Well,  Denis  used  to  play  the  organ,'  said  Noel,  4 and  he 'd 
have  a beautiful  black  beard  if  he  didn't  shave  it  off  on 
Sunday  mornings.  I may  plan  joyful  surprises,  but  I never 
sacrifice  the  truth.' 

She  was  still  looking  at  Denis  as  if  she  half  expected  him  to 
vanish  in  a thin  spiral  of  mist.  4 And  you 've  grown  immensely 
tall,  and  you  're  a musician,'  she  said.  * Oh  ! I always  felt 
that  we  should  meet  again — at  the  right  moment.' 

4 After  all  these  years,'  murmured  Denis.  4 And  I knew  that 
you  wouldn’t  be  changed,'  he  added  slowly. 

4 Oh,  you  're  rash  to  assume  that ! ' cried  Miss  Amory. 
But  Denis  felt  that,  essentially,  Rosalind  was  the  Rosalind 
whom  he  had  adored  at  Parnasse,  though  she  was  tall  and 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


284 

grown  up  and  incomparably  fair,  and  there  were  no  freckles  on 
her  nose,  and  she  did  not  kiss  him  on  both  cheeks.  Oh,  there 
was  no  doubt  that  she  was  unchanged  ; there  was  no  doubt, 
also — in  his  mind,  at  least — that  she  was  more  beautiful  than 
any  one  whom  he  had  seen  or  dreamed  of.  Her  skin  had  the 
clear,  warm  pallor  which  had  startled  him  in  Italy  when  he  had 
observed  a woman  or  a child  who  possessed  it ; a pallor  which 
defied  the  southern  sun,  and  gave  a value  to  facial  outline  that 
no  colouring,  however  delicate,  could  possibly  afford.  Her 
deep  eyes  and  sensitive  lips  were  in  passionate  contrast  with 
this  rare  tone,  which,  when  her  hands  were  silhouetted  by  any- 
thing dark,  had  a kind  of  pearly  glow,  became  almost  luminous. 

He  sat  with  her  on  an  ottoman  in  a corner  of  the  studio, 
whilst  Noel  went  on  a tour  of  inspection  with  Miss  Amory,  and 
little  Sandys  ate  another  slice  of  cake.  She  did  not  besiege 
him  with  questions,  but  gave  him  a brief  history  of  her  own 
adventures  since  her  father’s  death  : how  she  had  seen  all  the 
shores  of  the  world  from  the  yacht  of  the  Americans  who  had 
befriended  her  during  her  long  illness  in  Switzerland  ; how  she 
had  passed  a delightful  year  at  their  estate  in  Virginia  and 
another  at  their  house  in  the  Champs  Elysees,  where  she  met 
Miss  Amory,  who  exhorted  her  to  remain  in  Paris  and  devote 
herself  to  painting  ; how  Miss  Amory  came  to  London  to  nurse 
her  sister  in  a long  illness  that  proved  fatal,  settled  in  Hamp- 
stead, and  persuaded  Rosalind  to  join  her.  4 And  here  I am 
for  ever,’  she  added ; 4 I feel  as  permanent  as  St.  Paul’s 
Cathedral,  especially  now  that  I ’ve  got  Noel,  and  you.  I ’ve 
finished  my  wanderings  ; I’m  on  the  shelf,  and  it ’s  extremely 
comfortable.’ 

4 You  never  wrote  to  me,’  Denis  reproached  her. 

4 I couldn’t,’  she  said  ; 4 for  a year  I couldn’t  bear  to  do 
anything  that  seemed  like  trying  to  renew — to  get  back  into 
that  old  life.  And  then — and  then  I suppose  I felt  that  if  I 
wrote  to  you  it  might  spoil  our  meeting  when  we  met  at  last, — 
as  I knew  that  we  should.  Do  you  remember  the  day  when 
you  said  good-bye  to  us  at  the  Gare  du  Nord  ? I feel  quite 
certain  now  that  it  was  only  yesterday,  and  that  we ’ve  both 
grown  to  gigantic  stature  in  one  night  like  the  beanstalk  in  the 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


285 

fairy-tale.  If  I ’d  written  to  you  and  you ’d  written  to  me  I 
shouldn’t  feel  that,  I expect.  Letters  often  seem  to  blur  one’s 
impressions  of  one’s  friends.’  % 

‘ You  might  have  risked  a postcard  ! ’ said  Denis.  But 
Rosalind  shook  her  head,  with  a smile  implying  that  if  letters 
were  dangerous,  postcards  were  absolutely  fatal.  A delicate 
shade  of  pink  had  invaded  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  shone  with 
a most  friendly  light  as  they  rested  on  him.  Looking  at  her, 
watching  every  change  in  that  lovely,  expressive  face,  he 
ielt  agitated  with  the  dumbness  of  his  soul.  If  he  could  only 
tell  her  how  her  memory  had  been  the  abiding  solace  of  those 
years,  and  that  to  the  casual  meeting  on  the  night-robed  hill  he 
owed  all  the  joy  of  his  life,  the  few  poor  powers  that  he  pos- 
sessed— everything,  everything  ! But  he  was  tongue-tied,  and 
seemed,  no  doubt,  almost  morose ; it  was  impossible  to 
express  a thousandth  part  of  all  that  he  felt,  except,  of  course, 
in  music.  He  had  a queer  idea  that  if  he  could  play  to  her 
she  would  understand. 

They  spoke  of  Parnasse,  and,  at  last,  of  her  father.  Denis 
seemed  to  remember  everything  that  Mr.  Duroy  had  said  ; he 
astonished  Rosalind  with  his  extraordinary  recollection  of  the 
most  minute  details  of  the  old  life.  Her  voice  did  not  tremble 
when  she  talked  of  Mr.  Duroy,  but  her  eyes  told  the  boy  what 
she  had  suffered. 

‘ He  did  everything  for  me,’  said  Denis.  ' He  taught  me 
what  joy  was,  what  a beautiful  thing  the  world  ought  to  be. 
He  seemed  like  a king — a king  of  life.’ 

‘ And  we  never  knew  him,’  she  said.  ‘ Even  I never  knew 
him — until  the  end.’ 

He  stared  at  her. 

‘ Never  knew  him  ? ’ he  repeated. 

* No,’  she  said.  She  paused  for  a moment.  * You  never 
knew,  did  you,  that  beneath  it  all, — beneath  his  gaiety,  his 
gentleness,  his  wonderful  kindness,  he  was  sad  ; he  felt  that  he 
was  a failure,  but  hid  it  because  he  meant  to  allow  nothing  to 
come  into  my  life  that  wasn’t  happy  and  beautiful  ? ’ 

Denis  protested  warmly.  ‘Oh!  it ’s  impossible,’  he  said. 
4 His,  of  all  lives,  a failure  ! It  was  a triumph,  a glorious 


286 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


triumph ; even  the  end ' He  paused,  fearful  of  hurting 

her. 

‘ At  the  end/  she  said  very  slowly,  ‘ when  we  were  beginning 
to  slip  down  the  ice  towards  the  edge  of  the  crevasse,  the  guide 
began  to  curse  and  to  pray,  and  shouted  that  father's  weight 
was  dragging  us  down.  Father  said,  “ If  I cut  the  rope  will 
you  be  able  to  take  Mademoiselle  home  in  time  for  tea?,, — those 
were  his  words,  and  the  guide  asked  God  to  forgive  him  for 
answering  “Yes.”  Father  told  me  to  be  brave  and  not  to  be 
frightened  if  I saw  him  fall  down  the  crevasse,  because  there 
was  only  a small  drop,  and  they  would  find  him  quite  well, 
with  at  worst  a sprained  ankle,  when  they  came  to  look  for 
him  ; and  I believed  him.  He  took  out  his  knife  and  began  to 
cut  the  rope  ; when  the  knife  was  almost  through  it  he  looked 
at  me  once,  smiling,  and  told  me  to  be  sure  to  practise  my  violin 
that  evening.  He  was  so  calm  that  I didn't  believe  there  was 
any  danger.  Then,  as  he  cut  the  last  strand  of  rope,  I heard 
him  say,  “ A chance  at  last,  a chance  at  last ! ” in  a voice  that 
I had  never  heard.  That  terrified  me  and  I cried  out  to  him  - 
and  then — the  rope  gave  way  where  he  had  cut  it.' 

Her  mouth  quivered  convulsively  for  a moment,  then 
straightened  to  the  firm  line  that  Denis  remembered. 

‘ Those  words  haunted  me  perpetually,'  she  went  on  after  a 
while  ; ‘ he  spoke  them  so  strangely,  as  if  he  were  about  to 
realise  the  great  desire  of  his  life.  Then,  one  day  after  I came 
back  from  America,  I found  amongst  his  papers  a book  that 
was  full  of  all  sorts  of  notes,  as  if  he  had  intended  to  write  an 
autobiography, — and  then  I knew.  He  looked  on  himself  as 
an  idler,  a dilettante,  a hopeless,  useless  encumbrance  on  the 
earth,  a slave  of  all  arts  and  master  of  none.  And  he  was 
always  afraid  that  I would  grow  up  like  him — as  if  I wouldn't 
have  given  my  soul  to  do  that ! Do  you  remember  how  he 
insisted  that  I should  renounce  music  altogether  when  I began 
to  work  seriously  at  painting  ? The  chance  that  he  spoke  of 
was  the  chance  of  doing  something  definite  and  prompt  and 
irrevocable  ; of  sacrificing  his  life  to  save  mine  and  the 
guide’s.' 

Her  lips  trembled  again,  and  she  smiled  rather  wanly  at 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


287 

Denis.  ‘ And  now  tell  me  about  everything  that  you ’ve  done 
since  I saw  you/  she  said.  Denis  obeyed,  but  cursorily,  for 
the  last  four  years  of  his  life  seemed  to  him  now  to  possess  no 
interest ; in  a very  short  time,  he  felt,  they  would  have  faded 
wholly  from  his  memory.  But  they  seemed  to  interest 
Rosalind ; she  really  was  wonderfully  sympathetic,  he 
thought.  Only  when  he  described  how  he  had  left  his  home 
secretly  did  her  sympathy  seem  to  wane.  She  asked  Denis 
several  questions  about  his  father. 

‘ I ’m  afraid  that  he ’s  very  unhappy/  she  said.  Her  tone 
implied  the  regretful  acceptance  of  an  unpleasant  fact  rather 
than  any  condemnation  of  Denis,  but  it  chilled  him. 

‘ It  can’t  be  helped/  said  Denis.  ‘ It  had  to  come  sooner  or 
later,  and  sooner  means  less  misery  than  later.  You  remem- 
ber how  badly  we  got  on  together  ? It  was  much  worse  after 
you  went  away.  And  he ’d  have  chained  me  up  in  another 
solicitor’s  office/ 

‘ No,  I suppose  it  couldn’t  be  helped,’  said  Rosalind.  ‘ But 
the  nearer  you  live  to  people  the  more  you  misunderstand 
them,  I believe.  I always  used  to  think  that  he  was  kind, 
really  ; at  least,  he  wasn’t,  as  it  happened,  but  he  meant  to  be. 
His  kindness  would  have  come  out  in  some  queer  way  sooner 
or  later,  and  then  you  wouldn’t  have  misunderstood  each  other 
any  more.  You  never  really  got  to  know  each  other,  did  you  ? * 

Denis  smiled  at  this  funny  idea. 

‘ I ’m  afraid  we  did/  he  said. 

She  shook  her  head  gravely,  and  rose.  * Now,  I ’ll  show 
you  my  pictures,’  she  said. 

He  was  astonished  to  find  that  her  work  was  as  unconven- 
tional and  vigorous  as  that  of  Noel.  It  consisted  entirely  of 
portraits  and  figure-studies  which  were  mostly  arrangements 
in  brown  and  black  and  grey,  and  seemed  to  his  unsophisti- 
cated eye  to  be  wonderfully  original,  modern,  and  daring.  But 
he  realised  gradually  that  it  possessed,  too,  a certain  suggestion 
of  restraint,  a strength  and  tranquillity  which  were  denied  to 
Noel ; he  felt  that  the  painter  had  always  known  exactly  what 
she  meant  to  do  before  she  began  her  picture,  and  had  care- 
fully and  triumphantly  done  it.  Noel’s  work  had  the  wild 


288 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


charm  of  a breathless  experiment,  but  it  often  meandered  away 
into  pure  eccentricity. 

He  did  not  lapse  into  superlatives.  There  was  a certain 
grave  directness  in  her  glance  that  held  a warning  against  the 
usual  methods  of  approval ; and  he  was  almost  afraid  to  in- 
dicate the  particular  works  of  art  which  he  preferred.  But  he 
was  vastly  impressed  by  her  ability,  and  thought  that  she 
regarded  her  successes  far  too  lightly.  Had  she  really  thrown 
herself  heart  and  soul  into  her  work,  or  had  it  all  come  to  her 
easily,  instinctively,  as  it  came  to  Noel,  as  it  had  come  to  Mr. 
Duroy  ? There  were  moments,  while  he  listened  to  a self- 
criticism  that  was  none  the  less  impertinent  because  it  was 
delightfully  gay,  when  he  felt  as  if  he  was  not  far  from  the 
presence  of  the  ghost  that  haunted  the  Duroy  family, — the 
ghost  that  her  father  had  exorcised  with  that  ultimate  amazing 
outcry  on  the  brink  of  death.  An  art,  he  thought,  was  a god 
who  demanded  a painful  tribute  of  blood  and  tears  ; a master 
who  gave  supreme  exaltation,  but  at  the  price  of  lonely 
anguish  and  bitter  striving.  He  found  no  trace  of  this  in 
Rosalind  or  her  pictures  ; it  was  easy  to  her,  he  felt,  this 
accomplishment,  and  how  much  finer  than  the  productions  of 
inferior  spirits  who  had  been  through  the  fires  of  the  god  ! Yet 
if  she  could  do  so  well  easily,  what  might  she  not  do  in  the 
teeth  of  difficulty  ? In  her  pictures  he  saw  no  hint  of  her  ever 
having  come  face  to  face  with  the  blank  wall  of  her  temporary 
limitations.  He  had  a peculiar  impression  that  her  art  was 
only  the  outlet,  as  it  were,  of  a tenth  part  of  her  temperament. 
This  was  splendid,  of  course,  but  wasn’t  it  essentially  wrong — 
for  an  artist  ? His  preferences  were  duly  approved  of  by  the 
painter.  ‘ You  have  picked  out  the  best/  she  said.  ‘ Oh  ! 
not  the  pictures  that  I think  the  best,  of  course  ■ you  almost 
ignored  them  ! — but  the  three  that  my  wisest  and  fiercest  critic 
approves  of/ 

Denis  disclaimed  any  real  preferences.  ‘ I see  you  in  all  of 
them/  he  said  simply ; ■ at  least,  a part  of  you/  And  he 
demanded  the  name  of  the  critic  in  question. 

‘ Mr.  Grimshaw/  she  answered.  ‘ You  have  heard  of  him, 
haven’t  you  ? * 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


289 

* I met  him  yesterday/  said  Denis.  He  looked  at  her.  His 
lips  parted  for  the  egress  of  a corollary,  and  then  he  became 
silent  abruptly.  The  expression  in  her  eyes  was  quite  new  to 
him.  Girl's  faces,  he  felt — even  Rosalind's — could  speak  a 
language  of  which  he  was  dismally  ignorant.  Surely  she  must 
detest  Grimshaw,  even  though  he  was  a genius  ? That  his 
sullen  eyes  should  stare  at  her  pictures  or  at  her  was  a profana- 
tion. 

‘ I suppose  he  is  very  wise,'  he  said. 

‘ Oh  yes — about  pictures,'  she  answered.  ‘ And  you  've 
met  Archibald  too.  He  was  raving  about  his  new  discovery, 
though  he,  too,  insisted  that  you  had  a black  beard  and  played 
the  organ.' 

‘ I ought  to  feel  flattered,  for  he 's  very  wise  too,  isn't  he  ? ' 
asked  Denis. 

‘ Very  wise — about  music,'  she  said.  Another  expression 
invaded  her  face,  and  in  it,  too,  Denis  discerned  little  but  a 
bewildering  novelty,  though  it  was  not  so  inscrutable  as  its 
forerunner.  It  seemed  to  imply  complete  friendliness  for  the 
excellent  Sandys, — and  yet,  there  was  a reservation,  a hint  of 
something  that  might  almost  have  been  tolerance.  He  was 
still  wondering  what  it  meant  when  Miss  Amory  called  to  them 
across  a rampart  of  teacups. 

He  discovered  that  Miss  Amory  was  a most  amusing  talker, 
and  one  who  found  in  Noel  the  appropriate  flint  for  her 
epigrammatic  steel.  She  was  a painter  of  allegorical  pictures, 
an  art-form  which  Noel  held,  or  affected  to  hold,  in  extreme 
abhorrence,  and  at  that  moment  she  was  defending  her 
vocation  and  pouring  out  tea  with  a dual  dexterity.  Little 
Sandys,  who  was  in  disgrace  because  he  had  prematurely 
attacked  the  cake,  was  basely  attempting  to  regain  favour  by 
agreeing  with  everything  that  she  said  and  by  shaking  his 
head  sadly  at  every  rejoinder  made  by  Noel.  When,  however, 
Miss  Amory  turned  her  attention  to  Denis  and  began  to  deliver 
herself  of  her  musical  theories,  Archibald  forgot  all  about 
his  own  equivocal  position  and  contradicted  her  frequently 
and  emphatically.  Their  argument  was  interrupted  by  the 
entrance  of  a smiling  personage  who  carried  a plate  of  hot  toast, 


290 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


and  the  problems  of  art  vanished  like  smoke  in  the  wind  from 
Denis's  mind  as  he  recognised  Marie — the  inimitable  Marie  of 
Parnasse,  the  creator  of  mille-feuilles  and  babas-au-rhum.  She 
was  quite  unchanged  ; she  hadn’t  even  learnt  to  speak  English ; 
and  when  Denis  sprang  from  his  chair  and  went  to  greet  her 
she  overwhelmed  him  with  compliments  in  her  own  tongue, 
appealing  to  the  assembled  company  for  their  confirmation, 
and  devouring  him  with  her  small,  intensely  bright  black  eyes. 
‘ Quel  beau  garcon,  quel  beau  garcon  ! ’ she  kept  on  repeating, 
and  when,  after  the  toast  had  been  deposited  in  the  fender, 
Denis  shook  both  her  hands  repeatedly  and  violently,  the  black 
eyes  seemed  actually  to  scintillate  with  joyous  lightnings.  He 
felt  that  he  would  certainly  have  kissed  both  her  rosy  cheeks  if 
Miss  Amory  had  not  been  present,  and  Marie  looked  as  if  she 
needed  very  little  inducement  to  return  that  kind  of  greeting. 
As  it  was,  she  talked  so  rapidly  that  she  had  to  pause  and  pant 
for  breath,  with  her  hand  pressed  dramatically  on  her  broad 
bosom.  ‘ And  Mademoiselle,  you  find  her  beautiful  ? ’ she 
gasped.  ‘ Tiens  ! you  make  a beautiful  pair,  a match  to 
refresh  the  eyes.  And  Monsieur  Noel,  with  his  big  beard,  is  he 
not  fine  ? Ah  ! how  it  makes  one  remember  the  old  time, 
les  beaux  jours  d' autrefois  ! And  there  is  another,  another  ! ’ 
She  pointed  to  the  doorway,  where,  as  if  he  had  been  waiting 
for  his  cue  to  enter,  stood  a white  poodle,  wonderfully  fleecy, 
with  a blue  ribbon  tied  in  a bow  between  his  ears.  He  came 
solemnly  towards  Denis  and  uttered  a little  nervous  whine. 
‘ Surely  you  haven’t  forgotten  this  old  friend  ! ’ it  seemed  to 
say.  Denis  went  down  on  his  knees  and  fairly  hugged 
Narcisse,  and  then  the  dog  bounded  about  like  a riotous  lamb, 
and  barked,  and  tried  to  lick  his  face.  It  was  obvious  that 
Narcisse’s  old  contempt  for  music  did  not  include  the  ex- 
ponents of  the  art. 

They  made  music,  after  tea;  Rosalind  played  her  violin 
and  little  Sandys  accompanied  her,  and  Noel  sang  Schubert 
and  Brahms.  When  Denis  closed  his  eyes  he  found  it  im- 
possible to  believe  that  he  was  not  at  Parnasse  once  more,  and 
when  he  reopened  them  he  seemed  to  see  the  figure  of  Mr. 
Duroy  standing  in  the  deep  shadow  of  the  window  curtains, 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


291 


watching  Rosalind  with  kindly,  critical  eyes  and  moving  his 
head  from  side  to  side  as  if  he  were  a mute  human  metronome. 
She  played  as  well  as  ever,  Denis  thought,  and  her  face  had  the 
well-remembered  expression  that  he  had  always  associated 
with  that  particular  music  ; her  eyes  were  dreamy,  but  her 
mouth  was  very  firm,  and  there  was  a tiny  perpendicular  line 
between  her  dark  eyebrows.  Little  Sandys,  with  his  chubby 
face  and  staring  eyes,  and  his  oddly  tubular  frock-coat,  bore 
an  absurd  resemblance  to  one  of  the  figures  in  a child's  Noah's 
ark. 

Afterwards  they  made  Denis  play.  As  usually  happened 
when  he  was  in  the  state  of  nervous  exaltation  which  was  pro- 
duced by  any  deep  happiness  or  sharp  regret,  the  works  of  the 
mighty  dead  seemed  incompetent  to  express  all  that  was  cry- 
ing for  release  in  the  prison  of  his  soul,  and  he  improvised, 
looking  always  towards  the  shadow  of  the  curtains  ; translat- 
ing into  sound  all  haunting  memories  of  old  years,  of  the 
happy  days  which  were  undimmed  even  by  the  thought  of 
Mr.  Duroy's  death.  That  strange,  last  outcry  of  Rosalind's 
father  rang  in  his  ears  like  a released  prisoner's  paean  to  the  sun 
and  the  living  world,  rising  above  the  sound  of  the  notes  that 
he  played.  He  had  an  odd  impression  that  it  had  an  even 
deeper  meaning  than  Rosalind  had  realised  ; he  imagined  Mr. 
Duroy  to  have  felt  that  his  self-sacrifice,  his  death,  would  do 
more  for  her  than  all  his  care  if  he  had  lived, — that  she  would 
become  a rarer  and  richer  personality  because  of  it,  just  as  a 
land  or  a city  for  which  men  have  thought  and  struggled  and 
died  nobly  gains  an  eternal  splendour  from  their  great  devotion, 
— a splendour  completely  apart  from  the  actual  result  of  their 
toil, — a splendour  in  which  earthly  failure  and  earthly  success 
shine  equal,  like  twin  stars.  The  idea,  possibly,  was  fantastic, 
but  it  haunted  him  vividly  as  he  played  on  and  on,  forgetful 
of  his  audience,  heedless,  even,  of  the  sounds  that  he  evoked 
from  the  piano,  and  intent  only  on  the  dreamy  pageant  which 
seemed  to  pass  across  the  velvet  darkness  that  lay  beyond  the 
curtains  of  the  window. 

The  consciousness  of  actual  life  returned  to  him  suddenly, 
and  he  ceased  to  play.  There  was  silence  in  the  studio  for  a 


292 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


moment,  and  then  Miss  Amory's  voice  murmured,  ‘ Do  you 
know,  that  was  very  beautiful/ 

Little  Sandys  sprang  from  the  sofa  and  went  over  to  Denis. 

‘ Oh  yes,  very  beautiful,  of  course/  he  squeaked,  ‘ but  it 
wants  form,  it  wants  pattern.  You  have  a poet's  mind,  and 
you  ramble  like  any  poet,  my  young  friend.  They  can't  help 
it,  poor  beggars,  of  course ; they  're  untrammelled,  practically; 
that 's  their  misfortune  ; but  you  're  different.  Don't  become 
vague  ; stick  to  fugues  ; put  your  folk-songs  in  canon.  Don't 
think  you  can  treat  music  as  a French  impressionist  treats 
painting  or  Mallarme  treats  language.  Any  unbridled  ass  can 
wander ; it 's  when  he  works  in  limitations  that  the  master 
reveals  himself,  as  a German  gentleman  of  intellect  once 
remarked.  I must  confess  that  I didn't  understand  you.' 

Denis  was  bewildered  by  this  sudden  onslaught,  and  looked 
helplessly  round  the  room.  His  eyes  met  those  of  Rosalind  ; 
she  smiled  at  him. 

‘ I think  I understood,'  she  said. 

‘ And  did  you  really  make  it  all  up  as  you  went  on  ? ' cried 
Miss  Amory. 

‘ Not  he  ! ' said  Noel.  ‘ He  stole  it.  It 's  part  of  one  of 
Wagner's  unpublished  manuscripts,  a pantomime  written  for 
the  Theatre  Imperial,  Potsdam.  You  ought  to  hear  the 
harlequinade,  and  the  song  of  the  clown  with  the  poker — a 
parody  of  Siegfried  and  the  sword.  It 's  getting  late,  we 
must  go.  They  won't  invite  us  to  dinner  here,  Denis,  because, 
like  all  lone  females,  they  live  on  culture  and  Crosse  and  Black- 
well's potted  meats.' 

But  Miss  Amory  protested  against  this  impeachment,  and 
made  them  all  stay  to  supper.  And  afterwards  they  made 
more  music,  and  Denis  talked  to  Rosalind  of  his  toils  and 
aspirations,  and  found  that  she  was  even  more  sympathetic 
and  enthusiastic  than  he  had  imagined,  and  little  Sandys  sang 
three  comic  songs  of  his  own  composition  (with  the  accompani- 
ments strictly  in  canon),  and  Noel  recited  a duologue  between 
Grimshaw  and  a Royal  Academician  which  reduced  them  to 
helpless  laughter.  It  was  a splendid  occasion,  Denis  thought, 
and  oh,  so  like  one  of  the  great  days  at  Parnasse  ! Through- 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


293 


out  it  he  kept  the  impression  that  Mr.  Duroy  was  standing  in 
the  shadow  of  the  curtain,  and  would  presently  steal  forward 
to  say  something  delightful, — an  apparition  which  would 
astonish  no  one. 

It  was  after  eleven  o’clock  when  they  took  their  departure. 
Rosalind  held  Denis’s  hand  tightly  in  her  own  small,  strong 
one,  and  made  him  promise  to  come  to  Hampstead  at  least 
twice  a week.  ‘ And  you  will  write  to  him,  won’t  you  ? ’ she 
added.  A shadow  of  disappointment  darkened  her  eyes  when 
he  understood  to  whom  she  referred  and  looked  doubtful.  But 
a moment  later  he  had  given  the  promise,  and  then  she  smiled 
at  him  as  if  he  had  presented  her  with  an  empire.  Oh, 
wasn’t  she  different  from  Cecilia  ! Poor  Cecilia  ! 

‘ You  ’re  a black  beast,’  he  said  to  Noel  as  they  went  into 
the  quiet  street.  ‘ If  you  hadn’t  played  that  trick  I might 
have  seen  her  yesterday  evening.  I ’ve  lost  a whole  day  of 
my  life.’ 

Noel  began  to  laugh.  * Hullo  ! ’ he  cried  ; ‘ who  said  they 
only  wanted  London  and  work  ? ’ 

* And  friends,’  corrected  Denis.  Little  Sandys,  who  was 
trotting  by  his  side,  looked  up  at  him  quickly. 

4 Miss  Duroy  has  a genius  for  friendship,  hasn’t  she  ? ’ he 
said,  and  sighed  melodiously.  Noel  turned  to  him  and  asked 
him  somewhat  abruptly  if  he  felt  ill,  but  Sandys  did  not  answer. 
After  a short  silence  the  little  man  caught  hold  of  Denis’s  arm 
and  said,  ‘ I showed  Wallaby  your  things,  and  he ’s  impressed, 
obviously  impressed  ; he ’s  beginning  to  bite.  He  wants  you 
to  go  and  see  him  on  Monday.  You  must  be  very  careful  to  be 
the  fisherman  and  make  him  be  the  fish  ; he ’s  a model  father 
and  a pattern  husband  and  gives  a lot  away  in  charity,  but 
he  ’ll  have  no  scruples  in  reversing  your  respective  positions  if 
he  can.  When  he  spoke  of  you  I knew  by  the  peculiarly 
indifferent  tone  in  his  voice  that  he  had  sighted  a prize.  He 
was  interested,  too,  when  I told  him  that  you  played  decently  ; 
I believe  he  wants  a tame  accompanist  for  his  ballad-concerts — 
tame,  I mean,  in  the  less  offensive  sense.  And  I ’m  going  to 
see  Landberger  to-morrow.’ 

Denis  thanked  him  warmly,  wondering  meanwhile  how  he 


294 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


would  pay  the  great  Landberger’s  presumably  immense  fees, 
and  Sandys  turned  quite  pink  in  the  moonlight.  But  the  boy 
was  in  too  exalted  a condition  to  permit  any  financial  problems 
to  depress  his  soul ; he  felt  as  if  he  were  walking  on  sun-flushed 
clouds,  and  the  great  road  before  him  rang  with  celestial 
melody.  He  transmuted  the  melody  into  song  as  he  went  to 
bed,  and  dreamed  of  Rosalind  all  the  night.  At  daybreak  he 
opened  his  piano,  which  seemed  as  finely  in  tune  as  all  the 
invisible  golden  strings  that  thrilled  with  the  lyric  splendours 
of  his  new  life. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


295 


XXXII 


TER  a delirious  fortnight  of  new  sensations  Denis 


settled  to  his  work  in  grim  earnest,  feeling  already  as 
if  he  were  an  old  inhabitant  of  Chelsea.  It  must  be  confessed 
that  he  did  not  go  early  to  bed  ; Noel's  conversation  was  too 
fascinating,  and  there  was  always  the  endless  and  delightful 
amusement  of  criticising  the  day's  work  ; but  at  any  rate  he 
arose  very  soon  after  the  sun  had  stained  the  river  with  pale 
gold  and  set  all  the  sparrows  chirping  in  the  plane-trees.  He 
lived  frugally,  for  he  had  a sharp  consciousness  that  behind 
any  extravagance  lurked  a grim  spectre  which  was  eager  to 
seize  his  wrist  and  hale  him  from  his  present  environment, 
and  he  had  long  ago  acquired  a healthy  habit  of  exercise. 
Walking  suited  him  admirably,  and  was  very  cheap. 

Noel  half  expected  that  Denis  would  overwork  tremen- 
dously, but  there  was  a certain  solidity  in  the  boy's  tempera- 
ment that  preserved  him  from  this  common  pitfall  for  young 
and  breathless  artists.  He  spent  a long  morning  at  his  songs, 
practised  after  luncheon  for  about  a couple  of  hours,  and  was 
ready  for  a walk  with  Noel  when  the  light  began  to  wane  in  the 
studio.  Never  was  there  such  a visitation  of  London  ! They 
wandered  over  it  all,  from  Hampstead  Heath  to  the  Crystal 
Palace,  from  the  Pool  to  Richmond,  from  Westminster  Abbey 
and  St.  Paul's  Cathedral  to  the  humblest  of  City  churches — 
some  dusty  place  that  seemed  still  to  distil  the  faint  odour  of 
domestic,  respectable,  eighteenth-century  worship,  where  every 
tablet  commemorated  an  alderman,  and  every  alderman  was 
an  epitome  of  all  the  virtues,  moral  and  civic.  Little  Sandys 
often  accompanied  them  on  their  expeditions,  and  proved  an 
invaluable  adjunct  to  the  party.  He  knew  London  as  an 
antiquary  knows  his  collections  ; he  could  lead  them  directly 
to  a picture  in  the  National  Gallery,  an  elusive  beast  in  the 
Zoological  Gardens,  or  a street  in  Wapping  where  a murderous 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


296 

conflict  had  taken  place  between  Chinese  and  Lascars.  He 
knew,  too,  all  about  the  music  that  was  being  played  in  every 
part  of  the  city  ; Denis  listened  to  Bach  in  Soho,  and  to 
Palestrina  in  Clerkenwell ; and  several  obscure  gentlemen  of 
talent,  when  they  peered  from  the  organ  loft  into  their  usually 
lonely  church,  were  flattered  to  observe  that  they  had  an 
attentive  audience  of  two  persons. 

It  was  all  very  delightful  for  Denis,  and  very  good  for  him  as 
well.  He  certainly  repaid  any  trouble  to  which  his  guides 
might  have  been  put ; he  was  intensely  interested  in  every 
detail  of  this  new,  amazing  life,  and  took  the  whole  teeming 
vat  of  humanity  to  his  heart — ‘ swallowing  London  by  acres/ 
as  Noel  called  the  process.  He  flung  himself  into  the  whirl  of 
life  like  a boy  who  leaps  into  the  summer  sea  after  long  hours 
in  a stifling  schoolroom  ; he  had  a royal  hunger  for  new  im- 
pressions, and  nothing  seemed  to  tire  him.  Noel  watched  him 
with  curious  interest  from  behind  a mask  of  irresponsible 
gaiety  ; ever  since  the  ancient  days  in  the  Sanatorium  he  had 
always  taken  a deep,  obscure  interest  in  Denis, — obscure, 
because  as  a rule  he  took  people  as  he  found  them,  and  was  not 
addicted  to  the  analysis  of  character.  He  had  long  ago  come 
to  almost  the  same  conclusion  about  Denis  which  Denis  had 
reached  with  regard  to  Rosalind — that  there  was  a reserve,  a 
latent  strength  in  his  temperament  that  made  him  interesting, 
and  would  one  day  manifest  itself  in  some  remarkable  way. 
Certainly,  whatever  might  bethe  strictly  moral  aspect  of  Denis’s 
abrupt  departure  from  his  father’s  house,  there  was  no  doubt 
in  Noel’s  mind  that  its  actual  results  were  all  in  the  boy’s 
favour.  Each  day  his  eyes  seemed  brighter  and  his  step  more 
elastic  ; he  had  lost  a certain  brooding  aspect,  which,  in  spite 
of  the  excitement  of  his  arrival,  he  had  not  been  able  to  leave 
behind  him  in  the  train  ; he  was  gay,  natural,  and  obviously 
happy.  ‘ And  if  the  ancient  parent  comes  to  take  him  away, 
I rather  fancy  that  I shall  be  under  the  necessity  of  wringing 
his  ancient  neck,’  concluded  Noel,  whenever  he  considered  the 
present  condition  of  affairs  through  the  mists  of  his  latest 
nocturnal  pipe. 

Denis,  too,  was  immensely  pleased  with  himself,  for  he  was 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


297 


confident  that  he  had  never  done  better  work  than  in  these  few 
weeks  that  succeeded  his  long  winter  of  discontent.  All  the 
songs  that  had  apparently  died  in  his  brain  when  he  went  into 
Boulter's  office  were  born  anew,  and  matched  with  them  his 
earlier  efforts  seemed  the  most  feeble  of  all  amateur  im- 
potencies.  Each  new  song  revealed  a successor,  and  he  was 
able  to  look  down  a long  vista  of  prolific  toil,  across  which  his 
progress,  like  a stone's  down  a mountain,  would  continue  to 
give  him  added  momentum — would  afford  him  strength,  keen- 
ness, and  wisdom.  Irritating  little  difficulties  of  technique, 
which  had  formerly  worried  him  for  days,  seemed  to  solve 
themselves  miraculously  ; and  he  had  no  hesitation  in  deleting 
parts  of  a composition,  which,  though  not  in  honest  relation 
with  the  whole,  would  have  seemed  to  him  formerly  far  too 
lovely  to  be  sacrificed.  He  was  realising  the  great  consolation 
of  the  creator — that  such  sacrifices  are  not  eternal ; that  the 
beauty  of  which  the  deletion  wrings  the  artist’s  heart  is  not 
really  lost,  but  will  dawn  again,  modified,  transmuted  into  a 
shape  exactly  appropriate  to  some  later  environment,  or 
perhaps,  in  process  of  time,  will  grow  up  on  its  own  account 
into  a complete  and  perfect  reality  of  loveliness. 

He  had  an  appointment  to  meet  Mr.  Wallaby,  and  one 
evening,  after  traversing  two  large  rooms  which  were  furnished 
with  many  pathetically  mute  pianos,  he  found  himself  in  the 
private  office  of  that  important  personage.  Mr.  Wallaby,  who 
was  tall  and  stout  and  plentifully  garnished  with  whiskers, 
received  him  genially,  almost  gaily  ; he  seemed  to  regard  the 
visit  as  a pleasant  and  quite  respectable  jest,  and  called  Denis 
his  dear  young  friend  twice  during  the  first  five  minutes  of 
their  interview.  Mr.  Wallaby  had  certainly  a most  engaging 
manner  ; when  he  spoke  of  modern  music  he  wore  an  aif  of 
almost  fraternal  sympathy.  ‘ These  poor  fellows,'  it  seemed 
to  say,  ‘ do  their  best,  of  course,  their  little  best,  but  you  and  I 
know  the  secret.'  Quite  by  accident,  apparently,  he  let  slip  a 
little  phrase  which  hinted  that  he  found  actual  genius  in  the 
songs  of  Denis, — 4 but  genius,  my  dear  young  friend,  is  like  a 
voice  crying  in  the  wilderness, — a beautiful  voice,  but  a lonely 
one.  And  a voice  isn't  a voice  until  it  has  an  audience,  as  the 


298 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


philosophers  tell  us.  You  yourself  are  a 'Varsity  man,  Mr. 
Yorke  ? Indeed  ? You  have  all  the  air  ; when  you  came  in 
I felt  quite  certain  that  you  were,  or  had  lately  been,  an  Oxford 
undergraduate.'  Denis  found  him  very  amusing,  though 
somewhat  florid,  and  occasionally  the  publisher's  eye  reminded 
him  of  the  falcon  glance  of  Mr.  Byng.  When,  however,  Mr. 
Wallaby  hinted  that  he  found  Denis  more  agreeable  to  meet 
than  the  usual  type  of  musician,  Denis  felt  inclined  to  emulate 
the  cry  of  the  Carpenter  in  Alice  who  criticised  the  bread  and 
butter.  ‘ It 's  so  awkward,  so  difficult,  when  they  're  not 
gentlemen,'  wailed  Mr.  Wallaby  : ‘ but  you  and  I,  of  course, 
can  talk  as  friend  to  friend,  if  you  'll  forgive  my  saying  so.' 
He  patted  Denis  on  the  shoulder,  but  even  during  that  brief 
action  the  candid  stare  of  the  boy  seemed  to  embarrass  him. 
He  hovered  round  the  room  for  a moment,  and  then  announced 
that  they  must  talk  business,  serious  business.  ‘ Oh,  the 
unpractical  artist  nature  ! ' he  moaned  comically.  He  sat 
down,  crossed  his  legs,  and  clasped  his  hands  beneath  his  chin. 
‘ We  must  be  serious,'  he  said  : ‘ we  have  to  benefit  each  other  ; 
it 's  a mutual  act  of  kindness  ; the  more  I make  out  of  you  the 
more  you  make  out  of  me,  and  vice  versa.  I 'll  give  you  twenty- 
five  pounds  for  the  eight  songs  that  I have  seen — the  money 
to  be  deducted  from  a five  per  cent,  royalty  on  each.  You 
understand  that  clearly,  don?t  you  ? We  mustn't  be  accused 
afterwards  of  grinding  down  the  aspiring  artist.  You  will 
have  twenty-five  pounds  at  once,  and  then,  after  a short 
interval,  I hope  that  you  will  receive  five  per  cent,  on  all  the 
songs.  All  the  rights  of  every  description  will  be  mine.'  He 
beamed  at  Denis  with  a smile  that  seemed  to  say,  ‘ I am  really 
a philanthropist,  you  know,  though  I cloak  my  charity  with  a 
thin  disguise  of  business.' 

Denis  was  silent  for  a few  moments,  but  only  because  he 
thought  that  silence  was  appropriate  to  the  occasion.  He 
made  up  his  mind  at  once  to  accept  the  offer  : twenty-five 
pounds  meant  the  possibility  of  many  weeks  in  Chelsea, 
though  of  course  some  of  it  would  have  to  be  sent  to  Gustus. 
Mr.  Wallaby  watched  him  with  his  philanthropic  smile 
admirably  sustained.  ‘ Of  course,  between  ourselves,'  he  said 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


299 


at  length,  ‘ I don’t  mind  confessing  that  this  offer  is  in  the 
nature  of  a bait.  I ’ve  no  doubt  you ’ve  heard  that  publishers 
are  in  the  habit  of  entrapping  their  unfortunate  victims  with 
all  sorts  of  dainty  devices,  and  I tell  you  frankly  that  now 
I Ve  seen  you  I want  to  keep  you.  I believe  there ’s  a future 
for  you, — a vulgar,  commercial  future,  I mean,  you  know,  for 
I ’m  a vulgar,  commercial  man.’  He  passed  his  hand  across 
his  brow,  and  looked,  thought  Denis,  like  a Prime  Minister  or 
a Prince  of  the  Church  in  disguise.  ‘ I won’t  try  to  tie  you 
down  ; genius  has  wings,  it  must  be  free  ; it  mustn’t  become  a 
barn-door  fowl ; but  I want  you,’  said  Mr.  Wallaby,  using  a 
metaphor  that  nearly  upset  Denis’s  gravity,  ‘ to  come  flying 
back  with  your  golden  wings  and  to  lay  your  eggs  in  my  barn. 
I shall  be  very  glad  to  see  all  your  future  work.’ 

At  this  moment  a telephone  bell  rang  somewhere  in  the 
room.  Mr.  Wallaby  went  to  the  instrument,  listened  for  a 
moment,  and  then  spoke  quite  sharply  and  angrily  down  the 
tube.  When  he  returned  to  his  chair,  however,  he  looked  as 
serenely  beneficent  as  before.  ‘ I took  your  things  home  to 
my  wife,’  he  said  ; 4 she  is  an  accomplished  musician,  and  I 
have  great  faith  in  her  judgment ; more,  I may  tell  you  in  con- 
fidence, than  in  that  of  our  poor  friend  Sandys.  She  played 
them,  and  my  daughter  sang  them.  I listened  over  a cigar — the 
ideal  method  of  hearing  music.’  He  paused,  as  if  to  enjoy  this 
retrospect  of  domestic  bliss,  and  then  continued  : ‘ She  thought 
them  capital,  capital.  And  that  reminds  me — the  mention  of 
Sandys  reminds  me  that  I have  two  other  questions  to  ask  you. 
First,  you  play  accompaniments  very  well,  he  says.  Would 
you  care  to  do  so  at  some  of  my  Saturday  concerts — you ’ve 
heard  of  them  ? The  fees,  I ’m  afraid,  are  trifling,  but  it ’s  a 
distinction,  in  a kind  of  way,  to  appear  at  them.  How  do  you 
feel  about  it  ? ’ 

Denis  felt  cold  to  the  bone  at  the  idea  of  appearing  on  a 
public  platform,  but  after  all,  he  thought,  it  could  not  be 
more  terrifying  than  the  occasions  when  he  played  the  piano 
before  the  whole  school  at  the  end  of  the  Michaelmas  term. 
He  said  that  he  would  like  to  meditate  on  the  suggestion,  and 
Mr.  Wallaby  was  full  of  sympathetic  approval. 


300 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


‘ Wise  man/  he  said.  ‘ Think  it  over.  Don't  accept  en- 
gagements in  a hurry  that  may  interfere  with  your  creative 
work.  I 'll  send  you  particulars  of  the  concerts.  And  now 
for  my  other  question  ! It 's  a very  rude  one,  but  you  're  young 
and  I 'm  old  enough  to  be  your  father.  You  must  consider  me 
privileged  on  this  occasion.  Have  you  any  private  means  ? ' 

Even  if  Denis  had  been  quick  to  take  offence,  Mr.  Wallaby’s 
voice  was  so  gentle,  it  thrilled  with  such  exquisite  considera- 
tion, that  he  could  not  possibly  have  resented  the  question. 
He  replied  that  at  present  he  had  no  private  means,  though  he 
hoped  in  about  a year  to  inherit  a small  regular  income  of 
seventy  or  eighty  pounds.  Mr.  Wallaby  glowed  with  almost 
affectionate  sympathy. 

‘ Very  nice,'  he  said,  ‘ seventy  or  eighty  pounds  ! But  you 
must  embroider  it,  my  dear  young  friend,  you  must  embroider 
it.  Then  if  that  is  the  case,'  he  went  on,  ‘ I believe  I am 
justified  in  making  a proposal  to  you.  Sandys  has  more  work 
than  he  can  get  through  ; we  are  positively  deluged  with 
manuscripts ; every  country  vicarage  bombards  us  with 
sevenfold  Amens,  and  you  may  not  believe  it,  but  there  are  at 
this  moment  half  a dozen  Oxford  Doctors  of  Music  who  are 
turning  out  comic  songs  by  the  score.  Do  you  care  to  help 
us  ? Your  hours  would  not  be  long — about  ten  to  twelve  a 
week,  for  Sandys  would  continue  to  wrestle  with  the  bulk  of 
the  work.  He  finds  it  tedious,  but  he  is  made  that  way  ; you, 
I believe,  would  be  amused  by  the  remarkable  efforts  of 
amateurs,  and  there 's  always  the  chance  of  discovering  a 
genius.  To  descend  to  the  vulgar  question  of  cash, — we  will 
pay  you  two  pounds  a week  and  give  you  a room  to  work  in.’ 

The  man  was  a perfect  Maecenas,  Denis  thought,  and  little 
Sandys  had  certainly  misjudged  him.  For  a moment  he 
resented  the  idea  of  anything  extraneous  being  allowed  to 
interrupt  his  other  work  ; but  after  all,  he  thought,  money 
was  necessary,  not  for  its  own  sake,  but  for  the  sake  of  that 
work  ; it  was  worth  making  a small  sacrifice  in  order  to  con- 
tinue that  heavenly  existence  in  Chelsea,  and  also,  it  was 
obviously  the  only  way  in  which  he  could  pay  back  the  money 
which  he  had  borrowed.  His  conscience  had  begun  fo  be 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


301 


uneasy  about  that  high-handed  demand  for  Gustus's  five- 
pound  notes.  He  told  Mr.  Wallaby  that  he  should  like  to 
try  the  work  of  reading  manuscripts,  and  then  a remark  of 
Sandys  recurred  to  him. 

1 Shall  I have  to  wear  a frock-coat  ? ' he  asked. 

Mr.  Wallaby  stared  for  a moment,  and  then  laughed  very 
heartily. 

4 I know  what  you  mean  ! ' he  cried  ; ‘ it  was  a joke,  of 
course  ; a joke  of  my  junior  partner's,  and  Sandys  took  it 
quite  seriously.  But  we  never  enlightened  him,  for  he  looks 
so  much  more  respectable  ; he  used  to  appear  in  the  most 
awful  hat ! Wear  what  you  like,  my  dear  young  friend. 
Sandys  dressed  like  a combination  of  a German  professor  and  a 
Paris  art  student, — that  was  what  annoyed  my  partner,  who  is 
young,  and  very  smart,  a regular  man  of  fashion,  you  know. 
Neglects  his  business  to  go  calling  on  duchesses,  and  gives  tea- 
parties  for  them  here.  I must  entice  you  to  one  of  them  ; 
they  're  amusing  enough.' 

Mr.  Wallaby's  intonation  implied  that  his  soul  gyrated  in  an 
empyrean  far  remote  from  the  dubious  paradise  of  British 
aristocracy.  Denis  left  him  soon  afterwards,  having  promised 
to  write  to  him  in  a few  days,  and  agreeing  to  accept  the  terms 
offered  for  his  songs.  Mr.  Wallaby  made  him  sign  a contract 
then  and  there,  which  seemed  to  Denis  agreeably  straight- 
forward and  businesslike  on  his  part.  ‘ You  must  come  and 
see  us  at  home,'  was  Mr.  Wallaby's  final  utterance  ; c we  live  in 
Wimbledon- — ms  in  urbe , you  know,  and  my  wife  will  be 
delighted.'  He  shook  Denis's  hand  warmly.  ‘ Good- bye, 
goo^-bye,  my  new  genius,  my  dear  young  friend  ! ' Denis  felt 
a tiny  twinge  of  uneasiness  at  that  word  ‘ new.'  Had  there 
been  other  geniuses,  and  if  so,  where  had  they  disappeared  ? 
He  thanked  Mr.  Wallaby  for  all  his  kindness,  and  threaded  his 
way  between  the  grand  pianos.  In  the  dim  light  of  early 
evening  they  looked  like  a multitude  of  heavy  beasts  who  were 
waiting  to  devour  him. 

When  he  recounted  his  adventures  to  his  friends  in  the 
Chelsea  studio,  Noel  seemed  to  think  that,  on  the  whole,  he 
had  got  off  fairly  easily,  but  Sandys  almost  danced  with  rage. 


302 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


‘ The  wicked  old  bloodsucker/  he  cried,  alluding,  I am 
afraid,  to  his  august  employer  ; ‘ the  infernal  old  body- 
snatcher  ! He  knows  perfectly  well  that  he  'll  make  fifty 
pounds  out  of  each  song,  if  he  produces  them  at  his  hideous, 
degrading  ballad-concerts, — and  then  you  go  selling  the  whole 
lot  for  twenty-five  ! Royalty  ! a lot  of  royalty  you  'll  see  ! 
Five  per  cent.  ! You  ought  to  get  not  a penny  less  than  fifty. 
He  knows  that  there 's  absolutely  no  risk  with  stuff  like  that. 
As  for  the  accompanying,  and  the  reading — that 's  all  right  if 
you  can  stand  it,  but  I should  just  like  to  know  how  long  it  'll 
last.  As  long,  I suppose,  as  you  keep  on  turning  out  stuff  at  the 
pace  he  sets  you.  That 's  his  game  ! he  wants  to  get  hold  of  you 
altogether  ; he  scents  money  as  a hyaena  scents  blood,  and  he 
holds  up  this  offer  of  regular  work  as  a bait.  Kind  ! my  dear 
fellow,  do  you  suppose  he  invites  an  untrained  accompanist  to 
play  beastly  tunes  at  his  concerts,  and  an  absolutely  inexperi- 
enced beginner  to  be  his  reader,  from  purely  altruistic  motives? 
He  'll  throw  you  away  like  an  old  hat  if  you  don't  turn  out 
enough  stuff — at  a five  per  cent,  royalty — for  his  market,  or  if 
you  change  your  manner,  or  take  to  writing  symphonies.  I 
should  like  to  tell  him  what  I think  of  him.  I should  like  to 
thump  him  hard  in  his  fat  paunch/  And  Sandys  shook  his 
fist  at  Noel,  who  laughed,  and  prodded  him  with  a mahl-stick. 

* You  're  jealous  because  Denis  is  going  to  share  your  work,' 
he  said.  ‘ It  'll  all  be  fun  for  Denis,  anyhow,  and  twenty-five 
pounds  is  a mint  of  money  for  his  young  eyes  to  gloat  over. 
He  can  throw  up  the  other  work  when  he  feels  inclined,  and 
starve  ; meanwhile  he  will  be  able  to  support  me  in  luxury.' 

But  Sandys  refused  to  be  consoled. 

‘ It 's  dangerous,'  he  said  ; ‘ it 's  putting  pressure  on  him 
at  the  very  beginning  of  his  career,  when  he  ought  still  to  be 
a toiling  student,  not  a producing  machine.  If  I 'd  known 
what  depths  of  depravity  that  old  Machiavelli  was  capable  of, 
I 'd  have  shot  myself  before  I put  the  boy  in  his  clutches. 
Luckily,  I 've  fixed  it  up  with  Landberger  ; he  'll  be  a useful 
counter-irritant.  There  's  no  oiliness  about  Landberger.' 

Denis  soon  discovered  the  truth  of  this  last  remark.  He 
visited  the  great  music-master  by  appointment  on  the  follow- 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


303 


ing  day,  and  found  a personality  that  rewarded  inspection. 
Landberger  was  a fat  old  man  with  very  bright  red  cheeks  and 
deep-set,  irascible  eyes  ; he  wore  an  embroidered  smoking-cap 
and  a frayed  velvet  jacket,  and  his  manners  were  distinctly 
inferior  to  those  of  Mr. Wallaby.  He  shook  hands  with  Denis, 
stared  at  him  for  a moment,  and  then  remarked,  with  a side- 
ways jerk  of  his  head,  ‘ Well,  there  *s  the  piano/ 

Denis  went  to  the  instrument,  and  sat  down  on  the  music- 
stool.  ‘ What  would  you  like  me  to  play  ? ’ he  asked. 

‘ Oh,  I don’t  care,’  said  Landberger,  as  if  his  presence  in  the 
room  was  a mere  accident.  ‘ It ’s  quite  immaterial,’  he  added 
grimly  ; ‘ I know  everything.’  And  he  began  to  read  a news- 
paper. Denis  felt  a wicked  inclination  to  improvise  ; but  he 
restrained  himself,  and  played  the  first  four  pages  of  the  Sonata 
Pathetique.  Whilst  he  was  playing  he  could  hear  the  noisy 
rustle  of  Landberger’s  paper,  and  when  he  ceased,  that  gentle- 
man was  apparently  absorbed  in  the  leading  article.  Denis 
waited  patiently,  and  presently  Landberger  folded  the  paper 
with  extreme  deliberation,  and  spoke. 

‘ Young  man,’  he  said,  ‘ are  you  often  nervous  ? ’ 

‘ Not  when  I ’m  actually  playing,’  answered  the  truthful 
Denis,  swinging  round  on  the  stool.  Landberger  glared  at  him. 
‘ Are  you  nervous  to-day  ? ’ he  growled. 

‘ No,’  said  Denis.  The  master  reopened  his  newspaper. 

‘ Then  God  help  you,’  he  said  briefly,  ‘ for  I can’t.’ 

Denis  stared  at  him  with  wide  eyes,  and  waited  for  further 
criticism,  but  the  great  man  was  now  completely  absorbed  in 
his  leading  article.  After  a few  moments,  without  looking  up, 
he  emitted  a queer  kind  of  groan  which  no  reasonable  being 
would  have  assumed  to  be  speech.  Denis,  however,  was 
astonished  out  of  all  reason. 

‘ I beg  your  pardon  ? ’ he  said  politely. 

‘ I said  “ Go  on  ” ! ’ snarled  Landberger.  ‘ Good  Lord, 
sir,  is  that  all  you  know  ? Can’t  you  play  another  little  piece, 
a little  drawing-room,  after-dinner  piece,  the  kind  of  thing  to 
digest  old  women’s  dinner  for  ’em  ? Go  on,  go  on,  for  heaven’s 
sake  GO  ON  ! ’ He  flapped  the  newspaper  wildly  at  Denis, 
who  decided  that  the  old  man  had  just  gone  mad,  and  won- 


304 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


dered  if  he  should  get  out  of  the  house  alive.  He  played  a 
Nocturne  of  Chopin’s,  and  then  waited.  He  played  it,  he 
knew,  very  well,  but  Landberger’s  criticism  was  contained  in 
one  brief  phrase.  4 Your  fingers  sound  like  sausages/  he  said. 

Denis  had  never  associated  sound  with  sausages — at  least, 
no  sound  except  succulent  hissing.  He  was  beginning  to  lose 
patience. 

‘ I don’t  know  what  you  mean,’  he  said. 

Landberger  looked  at  him  at  last. 

‘ I mean  that  they  ’re  as  soft  as  sausages,  as  fat  as  sausages, 
as  nerveless  as  sausages,’  he  cried.  ‘ If  you  took  ten  sausages 
and  tied  them  to  a clothes-line  and  bumped  them  up  and  down 
the  keyboard,  they ’d  make  just  the  sound  that  your  hands 
make.  That ’s  what  I mean,  young  man.  Is  that  clear  ? ’ 

Denis  met  his  eyes  steadily.  ‘ Perfectly,’  he  said,  ‘ and  it ’s 
also  perfectly  inaccurate.  You  ’re  talking  about  something  of 
which  you  ’ve  absolutely  no  experience.’  He  paused,  half 
expecting  that  the  master  would  fall  upon  him  and  destroy 
him,  but  Landberger  only  stared.  4 Now  I have  ! ’ continued 
Denis. 

‘ Good  Lord  ! ’ said  the  master.  ‘ They ’ve  sent  me  a mad- 
man, a young  lunatic.  It ’s  a practical  joke  of  Sandys. 
Good  Lord  ! ’ and  he  smiled  grimly.  Denis  liked  his  smile. 
It  made  him  seem  quite  another  person. 

‘ It ’s  my  favourite  amusement  on  Sundays,’  said  Denis. 

Landberger  stared  at  him.  There  was  a faint  gleam  of 
interest  in  his  eye  at  last.  ‘ What  d’  ye  mean  ? ’ he  said, 
cocking  an  eyebrow. 

‘ Stringing  ten  sausages  to  a clothes-line  and  playing  the 
piano  with  them,’  Denis  answered.  ‘ And  this  is  what  it 
sounds  like,’  he  added,  and  began  to  evoke  most  remarkable 
noises  from  the  piano.  He  felt  quite  reckless,  and  resolved  to 
show  this  extraordinary  old  man  that  he  wasn’t  in  the  least 
afraid  of  him.  He  continued  his  improvisation,  which  de- 
veloped rapidly  into  a clever  piece  of  grotesque.  You  could 
hear  the  poor  sausages  flapping  flatly  on  the  notes,  but  there 
was  a certain  comic  method  in  their  fall.  The  idea  had  struck 
Denis’s  imagination,  and  he  elaborated  his  lumbering  theme 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


305 


with  a happy  skill  that  surprised  him  ; it  became  pathetic 
with  the  sadness  felt  by  inert  things  that  were  compelled  to 
dance,  it  became  humorous  with  the  lyrical  exuberance  of 
Aristophanes  and  the  knockabout  antics  of  the  harlequinade. 
It  was  certainly  unlike  anything  else  in  the  world,  and  when  he 
finished  it  he  was  almost  anxious  to  write  it  down.  He  felt  a 
hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  looking  up,  saw  the  face  of  the 
master  distended  in  a smile  that,  in  some  queer  way,  was  the 
most  flattering  grimace  that  he  had  ever  seen. 

‘ You  ’re  a born  fool,’  said  Mr.  Landberger,  ‘ a born  fool  if 
ever  there  was  one.  And  now  let ’s  get  to  work.’ 

Denis  kept  his  promise,  and  wrote  to  his  father,  but  received 
no  answer  to  his  letter.  He  made  no  excuses,  and  merely  gave 
a curt  description  of  his  present  circumstances.  About  a 
month  later  the  inevitable  remonstrance  came  from  Gabriel 
Searle,  who  had  apparently  gone  over  irrevocably  to  the  camp 
of  the  enemy.  ‘ You  ’ve  hit  him  very  hard  this  time,  Denis,’ 
Gabriel  wrote.  ‘ He  has  aged  more  since  you  went  than  in  the 
last  ten  years.’  Gabriel  obviously  thought  that  all  Denis’s 
attempts  to  live  his  own  life  were  part  of  a deep-laid  plan  to  be 
revenged  on  his  father  ; which  was  foolish  of  Gabriel.  The 
letter  contained  the  usual  vague  wishes  for  a reconciliation. 
‘ If  you  could  even  come  down  for  a week-end,  I believe  that 
he  would  forgive  you,’  it  said.  ‘ He  isn’t  angry  this  time  ; he ’s 
only  broken-hearted.’  The  letter  ruined  a morning’s  work  ; 
he  tore  it  up  angrily,  and  wished  that  Gabriel  Searle  wasn’t  so 
sentimental.  But  the  phrase  with  which  it  commenced  was 
like  a needle  in  his  memory  for  the  rest  of  the  day,  and  he 
despised  himself  because  it  hurt  him.  Was  he  going  to  be 
weak  now,  of  all  times  ? He  was  absolutely  convinced  that 
all  the  right  was  on  his  side  at  last ; he  was  working  well ; he 
walked  buoyantly  and  slept  soundly  ; all  the  painful  yearning 
of  his  soul  was  at  peace, — and  wasn’t  this  a proof  that  he  had 
taken  the  best  possible  step  ? Why  should  these  words  of 
Gabriel  gall  him  as  if  he  were  actually  in  the  wrong  ? 

They  ceased  very  soon  to  have  this  effect ; his  life  was  too 
full  of  novelty  and  his  work  too  engrossing — his  own  work- — 
u 


306  THE  FIRST  ROUND 

for  the  hours  that  he  spent  in  the  room  assigned  to  him  by  Mr. 
Wallaby  were  filled  by  labours  which  he  never  could  regard 
as  real,  though  he  performed  them  conscientiously — and  too 
slowly,  from  his  employer's  point  of  view.  It  was  his  task  to 
sift  the  bulk  of  the  miscellaneous  avalanche  of  music  that 
poured  incessantly  into  the  letter-box  of  Wallaby  andCompany; 
he  had  a piano  in  his  room,  and  if  any  composition,  when 
tested  by  the  instrument,  appeared  to  have  any  vestige  of 
merit,  he  passed  it  on  to  little  Sandys.  At  first  he  was 
amazed  and  somewhat  depressed  by  the  thought  of  the  vast 
multitude  that  was  caught  in  the  toils  of  production.  How 
should  he  ever  succeed,  with  this  army  of  eager  rivals  working 
inexorably  against  him  for  a public  that  was  so  airily  indiffer- 
ent to  the  great  gulf  that  should  lie  between  good  and  bad  ? 
But  very  soon,  I am  afraid,  he  was  comforted  by  realising  that 
most  of  it  was  very  bad  indeed, — so  bad  that  even  a greedy, 
indiscriminating  public  would  grimace  over  any  attempt  to 
swallow  it, — so  bad  that  it  was  pitiful  to  think  of  persons — they 
were  often  obviously  delightful  persons — wasting  their  lives 
over  music  when  they  might  have  been  comfortable  managers 
of  banks  and  joyful  fathers  of  children.  The  letters  which 
accompanied  these  effusions  were  often  dreadfully  pathetic  ; 
beneath  the  formal  language  which  introduced  them  to  Mr. 
Wallaby's  notice  you  could  read  the  anxiety  of  the  composer 
as  a scholar  reads  a palimpsest ; you  had  a vision  of  the 
months  of  toil  and  hope  and  depression  that  went  to  the  mak- 
ing of  certain  compositions  which,  in  the  end,  were  quite  im- 
possible. But  the  majority  of  manuscripts,  fortunately  for 
Denis's  peace  of  mind,  were  outside  this  painful  category. 
Wallaby  and  Company  had  a great  reputation  as  publishers  and 
producers  of  that  annoying  musical  excrescence,  the  drawing- 
room ballad.  Specimens  of  the  genre  whirled  down  on  Denis 
like  sand  in  a simoom,  and  even  his  unpractised  ear  was  able  to 
recognise  that  for  the  most  part  they  had  been  born  without 
artistic  travail,  that  the  composer  had  turned  them  off  with 
about  as  much  emotion  as  a barrel-organ  displays  in  emitting 
a popular  melody.  On  the  whole,  the  work  amused  him, 
though  he  was  conscious  of  being  completely  unfitted  for  it 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


307 


He  found  it  impossible  to  form  any  critical  standard  that  would 
apply  to  all  these  heterogeneous  creations  ; they  seemed  to  be 
written  for  a type  of  ear  of  which  he  could  not  imagine  the 
existence,  and  the  words  which  they  were  supposed  to  em- 
bellish were  the  language  of  lunacy.  The  composer,  he 
imagined,  invited  any  of  his  relatives  to  contribute  them. 
Sir  John  Hornbeam,  Mus.  Doc.,  that  ancient  sinner,  relied 
on  his  wife  for  lyrics  (she  had  published  a book  of  them  called 
Wailings  in  the  Wind),  and  not  in  vain,  for  did  she  not  write 
The  Rye- field  ? 

As  I came  gaily  through  the  rye , 

(. Heigh-ho  !) 

There  were  no  clouds  across  the  sky; 

{ Heigh-ho  / the  bending  barley  J) 

My  love  was  lingering  by  the  gate ; 

1 hastened  that  she  might  not  wait; 

She  was  so  fair , my  co?nely  Kate  / 

( Sing  hey  ! the  rye  and  barley  !) 

As  through  the  rye  I came  again , 

(. Heigh-ho  /) 

The  sky  was  dumb  and  dark  with  pain ; 

{Heigh-ho!  the  luckless  parley  !) 

She  slew  me  with  her  anger  sore , 

And  so  I weep  and  wander.  For 

I know  I’ll  see  my  Kate  no  more ; 

{Nor  she  no  more  her  Charley ). 

The  pastoral-pathetic,  of  course.  Denis  came  to  know  it 
at  a glance.  The  tunes,  in  nearly  all  cases,  were  worthy  of  the 
words,  but  they  were  occasionally  better  and  never  worse. 
He  hated  them,  but  not  more  than  the  conventional  robusti- 
ous, so  dear  to  the  Wallaby  audiences. 

A thumping  ballad  of  the  sea 
Is  what  Pve  got  to  sing , oh  ! 

But  his  greatest  aversion  was  reserved  for  the  wicked 
creatures  who  made  settings  to  the  sonnets  of  Shakespeare  and 
Keats  and  Rossetti.  That  seemed  to  him  an  utterly  unpardon- 
able gilding  of  lilies.  Poets  at  least  were  more  decent ; they 
didn’t  write  words  to  Beethoven’s  sonatas.  When  beautiful 
ideas  were  enshrined  for  ever  in  a monumental  art-form,  it 
seemed  the  basest  sacrilege  to  meddle  with  them  in  any  way 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


308 

whatsoever.  He  had  vast  arguments  with  Sandys  on  this 
subject.  Sandys  was  a great  reader  of  French  poetry,  and  had 
set  Baudelaire's  Invitation  au  Voyage  and  most  of  Verlaine's 
Sagesse  to  very  pretty  music. 

It  was  stupid  work,  and  it  left  a nasty  and  surprising  sequel 
in  making  Denis  inapt  for  more  congenial  labours  for  some 
hours  after  he  had  been  engaged  in  it ; but  it  occupied  very 
little  of  his  time,  and  Sandys  was  always  at  hand.  In  atone- 
ment, he  toiled  assiduously  at  theory  and  practice  with  Land- 
berger,  whom  he  very  soon  began  to  like,  went  to  every  concert 
where  good  music  was  played,  created  like  a young  artist  of 
the  Renaissance,  and  saw  Rosalind  as  much  as  possible.  He 
played  accompaniments  for  various  stars  at  Wallaby's  ballad- 
concerts,  emerging  from  the  hall  with  a distinct  sensation  that 
he  had  been  accessory  to  a crime,  and  wondering  how  people 
with  such  excellent  and  finely  trained  voices  could  dare  or 
bear  to  sing  such  wretched  stuff.  The  singers  he  found 
alternately  very  simple  and  pleasant  and  excessively  vulgar 
and  conceited. 

The  mere  act  of  entering  the  Hampstead  studio  was  suffi- 
cient to  banish  any  depression  that  was  caused  by  uncongenial 
work.  Rosalind  was  always  so  delighted  to  see  him  ; she  was 
such  an  ideal  friend,  so  sympathetic,  so  completely  spontane- 
ous, that  there  were  moments  when  he  felt  that  Nature  had 
performed  a work  of  supererogation  in  making  her  a girl.  But 
that,  of  course,  was  because  Nature  wanted  to  make  something 
beautiful,  and  Denis  was  deeply  appreciative  of  her  beauty. 
His  sensitive  young  artist's  eye  found  her  faultless,  and  just 
when  he  thought  that  he  knew  every  aspect  of  her,  every  trick 
of  moving,  every  characteristic  expression  when  she  talked, 
some  new  grace  would  appear  to  prove  that  his  judgment  was 
feebly  premature.  He  was  reading  Shakespeare  at  that  time  ; 
and  as  he  proceeded  from  play  to  play,  he  seemed  to  see  the 
actual  embodiment  of  each  heroine  in  his  friend  ; her  variety 
was  so  infinite  ; she  distanced  them  all ! If  only  Mr.  Duroy 
could  have  lived  to  see  her  ! Denis  never  lost  his  impression 
that  his  amused  and  delighted  spirit  was  lurking  in  the  shadow 
of  the  window  curtains. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


309 


Women,  he  discovered  in  a tremendous  moment  of  original 
inspiration,  were  extraordinary.  At  school,  if  he  had  ever 
thought  of  them  at  all,  he  had  regarded  them  merely  as  vague 
guardian-angels  of  the  proprieties,  alien  creatures  whom  one 
addressed  with  ceremonious  politeness,  and  who  stared  at  the 
carpet  even  if  you  did  remember  to  rub  your  boots  on  the  door- 
mat. It  was  the  sudden  sight  of  Topsy — red-faced,  talkative 
Topsy,  whose  body  was  like  a perfect  poem — which  had  hinted 
to  him  that  a woman  could  be  beauty  itself,  could  realise,  as 
it  seemed,  all  the  half-formed  irritating  visions  of  colour  and 
line  that  lured  your  eyes  when  you  walked  in  lonely  places  at 
dusk,  all  the  evanescent  harmonies  that  hovered  like  almost 
visible  things  about  you  when  you  were  eager  to  create  music  - 
it  was  the  sight  of  Rosalind  that  confirmed  this  suggestion 
with  an  emphasis  that  was  absolutely  conclusive.  A beautiful 
soul  in  a beautiful  body, — Life  could  produce  nothing  finer 
than  that ; the  eternal  monuments  of  art  were  shuffled  into 
an  inferior  place  when  you  contrasted  them  with  this  rarest 
perfection.  It  had  an  equal  dower  of  immortality,  too  ; 
didn't  life — and  art — owe  everything  to  its  influence  ? Though 
it  seemed  at  first  sight  temporary  and  brief  as  the  splendour  of 
a June  rose,  didn't  it  really  live  for  ever  in  its  effects — killing 
vileness  and  meanness,  bringing  happiness  and  wisdom  (and 
giving  splendour  to  the  creations  of  young  and  aspiring 
musicians)  ? A personality  of  this  kind,  thought  Denis,  with 
the  victorious  generalisation  of  youth,  was  the  first  cause  in 
every  mighty  work  of  genius.  Would  Dante  have  made  the 
Divina  Commedia  so  splendid  if  he  had  never  seen  Beatrice  ? 
Would  Shakespeare  have  created  that  great  line  of  noble 
women  if  he  had  not  seen  perfection  embodied  in  some  one  of 
his  own  acquaintance, — some  one  whose  name  was  probably 
not  Ann  Hathaway  ? Oh  ! it  was  rare,  this  perfection,  but, 
thank  Heaven,  it  was  quite  unmistakable,  and,  when  once  you 
had  recognised  it,  it  was  yours  for  ever  ; your  standard  became 
fixed.  Nothing  could  impair  it ; time  would  only  add  to  its 
glory  ; changes  of  taste  were  mere  shifting  mists  in  valleys  far 
below  the  height  where  it  shone  supreme.  It  was  above  every 
transitory  development  ; it  was  absolute,  not  relative  ; you 


3io 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


could  no  more  imagine  any  external  influence  affecting  it  than 
you  could  believe  in  a change  in  the  human  eye  that  would 
make  the  Elgin  Marbles  seem  grotesque. 

He  was  deeply  impressed  by  the  discovery  of  this  great 
truth,  and  in  the  course  of  one  of  their  nocturnal  discussions 
of  everything  on  earth,  he  drew  Noel's  attention  towards  it, 
without  mentioning  Rosalind,  of  course.  Noel  contemplated 
him  with  an  eye  which  would  have  seemed  Mephistophelean  if 
his  yellow  beard  had  not  spoiled  its  effect,  and  smiled  very 
wisely. 

‘ Oh  ! you  're  getting  on  ! ' he  said.  4 It 's  one  of  the  seven 
stages  of  adolescence.  You  remind  me  of  Archibald  when  he 
first  came  to  Paris.  Made  in  virtute , finer ! You  make  me 
dream  of  my  long-dead  youth.  Lend  me  your  pocket-hand- 
kerchief. Do  you  know  the  immortal  words  of  Ollendorf  : 
“ I have  the  cold  in  the  head,  and  my  brother  has  the  pocket- 
handkerchief  " ? It  suggests  all  the  horror  of  family  life  in 
one  brief  line.' 

Denis  thought  that  Noel  displayed  a most  unbecoming 
levity.  He  continued  to  visit  the  Hampstead  studio  twice  or 
thrice  a week,  and  became  absolutely  convinced  of  the  truth  of 
his  idea.  All  his  reading — he  read  a great  deal,  chiefly  poetry 
— would  have  confirmed  it,  if  confirmation  had  been  necessary. 
Rosalind  was  perfect,  and  she  would  be  his  friend  for  life.  The 
world  was  a glorious  place,  and  the  Hampstead  studio  was  its 
centre. 

There  was  only  one  cloud  in  the  serene  sky  of  his  existence — 
if  the  wiry  figure  of  Grimshaw  can  be  described  as  anything 
nebulous.  Denis  met  the  painter  in  Hampstead  on  several 
occasions,  and  continued  to  dislike  him.  There  was  no  proper 
reason  for  his  dislike  ; Grimshaw  was  no  ruder  to  him  than  to 
others  ; it  was  a matter  of  instinct.  Everything  connected 
with  the  man  jarred  on  him  ; his  deep,  slow  voice,  which  was 
really  musical,  his  laughter,  which  always  seemed  sardonic,  his 
habit  of  breaking  aggressively  into  any  discussion.  He  was  a 
genius,  no  doubt,  but  he  was  a brute.  Miss  Amory  liked  him, 
though,  as  Denis  discovered,  she  had  been  a friend  of  his  wife  ; 
but  of  course  Miss  Amory  liked  every  one  who  had  ever  held  a 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


3ii 

mahl-stick.  She  seemed  quite  glad  when  Grimshaw  denounced 
her  latest  allegory  in  language  so  violent  that  Denis  felt  she 
ought  to  have  wept  or  put  poison  in  the  master's  tea.  One 
consoling  fact,  however,  was  obvious,  the  boy  thought : Rosa- 
lind disliked  Grimshaw  ; no  one,  of  course,  would  have  ex- 
pected her  to  do  anything  else.  Though  she  was  still  his  pupil 
and  saw  him  almost  daily,  there  was  an  odd  note  of  constraint, 
of  effort,  in  her  voice  when  she  spoke  to  him  ; and  when  he  told 
one  of  his  stories,  which  were  always  concerned  with  practical 
jokes,  she  was  the  only  person  in  the  audience  who  did  not 
laugh.  Denis  laughed,  for  the  stories  were  really  amusing  in 
their  way,  and  Miss  Amory  was  always  ringing  a silver  chime 
of  appreciation.  Rosalind  smiled  briefly ; sometimes  she  did 
not  even  smile,  but  watched  Grimshaw  gravely,  swinging  a 
slender  foot.  It  was  the  first  time  that  Denis  had  seen  her 
look  as  if  she  were  bored,  though  she  was  good  enough  to 
simulate  an  air  of  interest. 

Grimshaw,  indeed,  seemed  somewhat  afraid  of  her.  He  did 
not  often  address  her,  and  when  he  did  so  he  spoke  with  a 
certain  deference  which  made  his  rough  voice  almost  pleasant. 
He  was  no  fool ; he  knew  a great  deal  about  music,  and  had 
anarchical  theories.  4 Traditions  ! traditions  are  hell ! ’ he 
remarked  one  day  to  Sandys,  with  a sublime  disregard  for  the 
ears  of  Miss  Amory  and  Rosalind.  ‘ What  you  want  is  in- 
novation,— to  make  audiences  who  are  torpid  and  intoxicated 
with  Schubert  and  Chopin  rise  up  in  their  chairs  and  gasp 
as  if  they 'd  sat  on  a corkscrew.  Traditions  are  made  to  be 
smashed.  Beethoven  smashed  them,  and  every  one  said 
“ How  dreadful ! ” Wagner  smashed  them,  and  nobody  be- 
lieved in  him  but  a king  whom  idiots  called  mad.  Traditions 
are  only  cultivated  by  people  who  are  too  flabby  to  strike  out 
and  get  beyond  them.  They  're  the  stale  lees  of  the  wine  that 
genius  crushes  from  life.'  He  snorted  contempt  when  Denis 
played  Purcell.  ‘ It 's  pretty,'  he  said,  ‘ but  it 's  bric-a-brac, 
it  's  vieux  jeu.  Go  and  listen  to  the  'buses  in  Piccadilly,  and 
try  to  write  the  noise  down  ; it  'll  be  healthier  for  you  than 
everlastingly  waking  up  these  old  ghosts.'  In  revenge,  Denis 
played  him  the  Sausage  rhapsody,  without  explaining  its 


312 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


origin.  ‘ That ’s  better  ! ’ said  Grimshaw  ; ' that *s  got  some 
life  in  it.  It  reminds  me  of  a fight  between  a fat  lady  and  a 
living  skeleton  at  a music-hall, — both  of  them  on  roller-skates, 
you  know.'  He  spoke  quite  seriously. 

Occasionally  he  was  amusing,  but  too  often  he  was  the  prey 
of  black  moods  which  he  made  no  attempt  to  conceal  from  his 
acquaintances.  He  would  snarl  like  a surly  dog  if  Noel 
laughed  at  him,  and  would  contradict  Miss  Amory  with  a 
rancorous  energy  that  reduced  her  to  silence,  though  she  never 
appeared  to  resent  it.  He  refrained,  however,  from  treating 
Rosalind  in  a similar  manner,  but  this  was  probably  because 
she  scarcely  spoke  to  him  on  his  bad  days  ; if  he  addressed  a 
remark  to  her  she  replied  with  a monosyllable.  Ho  regarded 
Denis  with  contemptuous  tolerance,  and  always  alluded  to  him 
as  The  Prodigy.  Sometimes  he  would  loll  in  an  armchair  for  a 
couple  of  hours,  speaking  to  no  one,  and  staring  with  morose 
eyes  at  the  ceiling.  Denis  would  yearn  to  take  him  by  the 
collar  and  shake  him  into  some  sort  of  civility  ; the  man,  he 
supposed,  was  engaged  in  thinking  out  a new  picture,  but  why 
on  earth  couldn't  he  do  it  in  his  studio  or  the  street  ? Some- 
times Grimshaw  would  utter  a sound  between  a sigh  and  a 
moan,  and  on  one  occasion  when  this  happened,  Denis  ob- 
served that  Rosalind  had  turned  towards  him,  and  was  looking 
at  him  gravely,  keenly,  but  apparently  without  any  trace  of 
irritation.  This  puzzled  Denis  for  a moment,  and  then  he 
concluded  that,  being  his  pupil,  she  felt  a certain  sympathy 
with  the  artistic  travail  which  was  indicated  by  these  annoying 
symptoms.  The  great  man  did  not  invite  Denis  to  his  studio, 
and  the  only  specimens  of  his  work  that  the  boy  saw  were  some 
charcoal  studies  at  the  Spring  exhibition  of  a certain  Art  Club 
— navvies  at  work  on  a railroad,  and  miners,  naked  to  the 
waist,  crouching  in  a narrow,  dimly  lighted  gallery.  There  was 
no  doubt  that  Grimshaw  was  a genius,  he  thought,  as  he  looked 
at  the  drawings  ; they  were  terrific  ! it  was  grim  realism,  yet 
there  was  nothing  forced  ; and  to  know  exactly  where  to 
refrain,  where  to  stop  dead  in  work  of  that  kind,  was  itself  a 
triumph  of  delicacy.  After  he  had  seen  them,  he  found  that 
the  majority  of  pictures  in  the  gallery  had  the  effect  on  his 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


3i3 


nerves  that  would  have  been  produced  by  a series  of  bottles 
of  bad  scent.  But  even  if  Grimshaw  could  do  that  kind  of 
thing,  he  had  no  right  to  be  surly  in  Rosalind's  presence  and  to 
mock  at  Purcell. 

The  amiable  Topsy,  who  was  sufficiently  good-natured  to 
remain  in  the  studio  when  her  day's  work  was  over  and  to  make 
tea  whilst  Noel's  brush  ran  a race  with  the  twilight,  seemed 
never  tired  of  talking  about  Grimshaw.  ‘ Oh  ! he  does  amuse 
me  ! ' was  her  invariable  prologue,  followed  immediately  by  an 
anecdote  which  made  Denis  feel  that  there  was  some  defect  in 
his  own  sense  of  the  humorous.  But  he  began  to  see  very  soon 
that  Topsy  had  a blind  professional  admiration  for  the  great 
man.  4 He 's  going  to  be  an  Old  Master  ! ' she  said,  with  a 
healthy  thrill  of  awe  in  her  voice.  ‘ He 's  famous  all  over 
Europe,  ain't  he,  Mr.  Tellier  ? And  Americans — you  never 
saw  such  figures  of  fun  ! — Americans  come  to  see  him — regu- 
larly force  their  way  into  the  studio — and  then  he  swears  at 
them  and  turns  them  out.  My  word,  but  he 's  a caution  ! 
He 's  afraid  of  neither  God  nor  man  ; he  wants  a woman  to 
keep  him  in  order.  Not  like  the  one  he  had,  though,  that  used 
to  watch  him  through  the  keyhole  whenever  he 'd  a model. 
Ah  ! She 'd  have  taken  first  prize  at  the  cat  show.' 

Topsy  evidently  worshipped  Grimshaw,  in  spite,  or  indeed 
because,  of  his  roughness.  ‘ “ Get  out,"  he  said  to  me  one  day,’ 
she  would  tell  Denis.  ‘ “ Take  yourself  off  and  be  hanged,"  he 
says,  “ my  head 's  bursting  with  your  jabbering  jaw,"  and  then 
he  drops  into  a chair  and  holds  his  head  till  I was  fit  to  die  with 
laughing.'  It  is  to  be  supposed  that  Topsy,  as  is  the  way  with 
many  devout  worshippers,  was  given  to  translating  the  lan- 
guage of  her  god  into  common  speech.  Sometimes  she  evinced 
an  almost  maternal  anxiety  with  regard  to  Grimshaw's  health. 
‘ He 's  overworked,'  she  said  on  one  occasion.  * His  hand 
ain't  steady,  and  that  makes  him  swear.  He 's  worrying  his 
life  out  about  something  and  says  that  his  liver 's  like  a hob- 
nailed boot.  I don't  know  how  he  managed  to  see  it,  though. 
His  temper 's  awful,  and  there 's  always  a smell  of  whisky  in 
the  studio.' 

Denis  felt  sick.  Was  that  the  place  to  which  Rosalind  went 


3 14 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


for  lessons  ? He  longed  to  warn  her  against  Grimshaw  ; girls 
of  twenty,  he  said  to  himself,  couldn’t  judge  a man’s  character, 
and  Miss  Amory  was  obviously  short-sighted.  Of  course, 
Rosalind  was  wise  beyond  her  years  ; but  did  she  know  about 
the  wife,  and  about  the  whisky  ? 

He  mentioned  both  of  these  unsavoury  subjects  to  Noel  as 
they  were  talking  together  that  evening.  Noel  didn’t  seem  to 
think  them  important. 

‘ Topsy  described  the  wife  very  well  in  her  epigram  about 
the  cat  show,’  he  said.  ‘ I saw  the  clawses  at  the  end  of  her 
pawses  pretty  often.  But  if  you  didn’t  know  her  and  only 
heard  the  facts,  you ’d  think  she  was  in  the  right  and  Grimshaw 
in  the  wrong.  Of  course  that ’s  rot,  really.’ 

‘ Oh  ! ’ said  Denis,  ‘ and  does  he  drink  ? ’ 

4 I don’t  know,’  said  Noel.  ‘ I should,  I think,  if  I ’d  married 
her.  If  he  does,  it  hasn’t  hurt  his  pictures  and  he  keeps  it 
dark.  Topsy ’s  a garrulous  idiot,’  he  concluded,  with  a little 
flash  of  irritation. 

‘ Does  Rosalind  like  him  ? ’ demanded  Denis. 

‘ Oh  yes,’  said  Noel,  ‘ — as  a painter.’ 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


3i5 


XXXIII 


T the  end  of  four  months  he  was  still  so  much  in  love 


with  his  new  life  and  his  work  was  proceeding  so  well, 
that  when  Mr.  Wallaby  informed  him  that  he  could  take  a 
holiday  of  four  weeks  he  felt  inclined  to  stay  in  London  during 
the  remainder  of  August  and  the  beginning  of  September.  But 
Noel,  who  was  going  to  Fontainebleau  to  paint  in  the  forest, 
disapproved  strongly  of  this  intention,  and  eventually  per- 
suaded Denis  to  accompany  him  to  France. 

The  four  months  certainly  constituted  the  most  wonderful 
epoch  of  his  life.  He  had  been  completely  happy  ; Noel  had 
proved  a perfect  comrade,  and  had  given  obvious  proof  of  his 
pleasure  in  having  the  boy  always  near  him  ; Rosalind,  of 
course,  was  beyond  praise  ; one  could  only  be  humbly  thank- 
ful to  Fate  for  the  great  good  chance  of  being  able  to  dwell  in 
the  light  of  her  presence  ; and  his  artistic  powers  had  developed 
in  a manner  that  seemed  nothing  less  than  amazing  when  he 
compared  his  present  achievements  with  the  tentative  efforts 
of  the  previous  year.  He  had  made  many  other  friends,  too  : 
Miss  Amory,  who  was  always  delightful,  and  little  Sandys,  who 
was  delightful  and  comic  as  well.  He  had  moved  in  a healthy 
atmosphere  of  artistic  endeavour  ; he  had  met  exactly  the  kind 
of  people  whom  he  had  wished  to  know — musicians,  painters, 
writers  of  verse,  writers  of  fiction — the  grim  crew  of  a stagger- 
ing ship  ! — and  a great  number  of  persons  who  were  none  the 
less  charming  because  they  were  not  artists.  Noel's  circle  of 
acquaintance  was  always  extending,  and  Denis  profited  hugely 
by  its  elasticity.  Old  schoolfellows  would  appear  unex- 
pectedly in  the  studio — gilded  youths  from  the  Universities 
who  still  called  Noel  Boosey,  and  stared  with  great  eyes  at 
little  Sandys'  tubular  frock-coat.  Denis  was  surprised  to 
observe  how  slightly  they  had  altered  ; their  interests  seemed 
the  same  that  they  had  possessed  at  school — games,  amuse- 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


316 

ment,  vivid  waistcoats — and  they  talked  the  old  jargon  which 
he  had  easily  forgotten  in  a year.  They  were  very  jolly,  and 
he  thanked  Heaven  that  he  wasn't  sharing  their  mode  of  life. 

One  August  evening,  a few  days  before  the  time  appointed 
for  their  departure,  he  walked  with  Noel  and  little  Sandys 
across  Hyde  Park  towards  the  Marble  Arch.  It  was  the  last 
evening  when  the  trio  were  able  to  foregather,  so  they  decided 
to  celebrate  the  occasion,  not  in  Soho,  but  at  an  Italian 
restaurant  near  Oxford  Circus.  Whilst  they  were  walking, 
however,  Sandys  remembered  suddenly  that  a great  violinist, 
a Belgian  named  Damboise,  was  playing  the  Beethoven 
Concerto  at  a hall  which  was  near  their  restaurant,  and 
suggested  that  instead  of  dining  they  should  go  to  hear  him 
and  have  supper  afterwards.  The  concert,  he  said,  would  end 
at  half-past  nine  ; and,  for  himself,  he  always  found  that  an 
empty  stomach  was  an  invaluable  aid  to  the  appreciation  of 
great  music.  The  plan  was  accepted,  with  the  condition  that 
Noel  and  Denis  were  allowed  to  eat  sandwiches  at  a German 
sausage-shop  in  Oxford  Street  on  the  way  to  the  concert  ; 
during  which  repast,  Noel  intimated,  little  Sandys  might 
warble  Denis's  famous  rhapsody. 

Near  the  Marble  Arch  they  met  an  acquaintance,  a writer 
named  Wilson  who  produced  mystical  novels  which  were  sup- 
posed to  be  intended  to  convert  all  the  world  to  theosophy,  or 
Buddhism,  or  some  other  mysterious  and  Oriental  creed. 
Wilson's  novels  were  not  successful ; his  name  was  unknown 
to  the  public,  and  he  attributed  this  disaster  to  several  causes  ; 
the  most  important  being  that  there  were  two  other  writers  of 
the  same  name,  that  his  prose  was  perfect,  and  that  he  himself 
was  afflicted  with  a modesty  that  forbade  any  kind  of  self-ad- 
vertisement. Latterly,  however,  he  had  begun  to  realise  that 
as  his  novels  were  written  with  a great  moral  purpose,  it  was 
his  moral  duty  to  draw  the  attention  of  a perverse  generation 
to  their  and  his  existence  by  any  method,  legitimate  or  blatant. 
The  notices  inserted  in  literary  weeklies  at  his  request  by  his 
publishers  were  a perpetual  joy  to  his  friends — ‘ The  Mahatma's 
Mantle , by  HERBERT  Wilson.  The  British  Public  are  kindly 
requested  not  to  confuse  the  author  of  this  remarkable  work 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


317 


with  Mr.  Nathaniel  Wilson,  the  writer  of  light  verse,  or  Mr. 
William  Wilson,  the  writer  of  sensational  stories.  Order  early 
from  libraries,  and  don't  forget  HERBERT.'  But  if  the 
public  remembered  Herbert,  they  remembered  him  only  to 
ignore  him,  and  the  sensational  William  sold  his  tens  of 
thousands.  Apart  from  this  peculiarity  and  a long  green 
cloak — probably  a Mahatma's  mantle — which  he  wore  per- 
petually, Wilson  was  quite  an  amiable  creature,  and  never 
tried  to  convert  Noel  and  Denis  to  the  religions  of  the  East. 

They  ate  leber-wurst  sandwiches  and  afterwards  listened  to 
the  violinist,  who  played  magnificently.  At  a quarter  to  ten, 
whilst  they  were  discussing  the  relative  merits  of  a risotto  and 
an  osso  buco,  the  great  Damboise  himself  entered  the  restaurant 
followed  by  the  conductor  of  the  orchestra,  a stout  man  with  a 
black  beard,  an  Olympian  coiffure,  and  a genial  face.  Dam- 
boise was  evidently  well  contented  with  his  performance  ; his 
huge  red  face  beamed  like  a blown  fire,  and  he  talked  and 
laughed  loudly.  He  sat  down  at  a table  where  places  had  been 
laid  for  half  a dozen  persons,  and  was  soon  involved  in  an 
animated  discussion — in  Italian — with  the  head  waiter,  who 
hovered  about  him  like  an  attendant  genius.  Denis  watched 
him  with  keen  interest ; Damboise  was  the  first  really  great 
man  whom  he  had  had  the  chance  of  observing  closely, — 
except,  of  course,  the  morose  Grimshaw. 

The  violinist  and  the  conductor  were  very  soon  joined  by  a 
party  which  consisted  of  two  men,  obviously  musicians,  and 
two  ladies  who  were  not  so  easily  classified  as  their  attendants. 
The  elder  was  of  ample  dimensions,  and  looked  like  a full-blown 
peony  ; the  younger  was  tall  and  moved  very  lithely,  and  had 
a face  which  was  pale  and  interesting.  Denis  asked  Sandys  if 
he  could  identify  her,  and  Sandys  replied  that  she  was  an 
American,  a famous  dancer  who  had  formerly  studied  music 
with  Damboise.  Evidently  she  had  been  a favourite  pupil ; 
the  great  violinist  took  both  her  hands  and  shook  them 
violently  ; he  kissed  the  other  lady  on  both  her  red  cheeks,  and 
patted  her  on  the  back  until  Denis  thought  she  would  succumb 
to  an  apoplectic  seizure.  Then  the  fun  began  ; Damboise 
laughed,  and  made  jokes  in  several  languages,  and  drank 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


3i8 

every  one’s  health,  and  gesticulated  wildly,  behaving,  Denis 
thought,  much  more  like  a jolly  schoolboy  than  a personage  of 
forty-five  with  a European  reputation.  He  very  soon  man- 
aged to  reduce  the  peony,  the  conductor,  and  the  two  musicians 
to  a condition  of  helpless  laughter  ; and  though  the  dancer 
didn’t  laugh  as  unrestrainedly  as  the  others,  one  could  tell 
from  her  extremely  expressive  face  how  enormously  amused 
she  was.  Presently  a silence  descended  on  them  ; she  was 
telling  them  a story,  very  gravely,  almost  sadly,  without 
gestures.  They  were  watching  her  with  the  queer,  strained 
aspect  that  faces  which  have  been  loosened  with  laughter 
assume  when  they  are  suddenly  compelled  to  be  grave.  But 
the  story  was  very  short,  and  at  its  conclusion  a peal  of 
laughter  went  up  that  startled  the  quiet  supper-parties  at  the 
other  end  of  the  restaurant.  Damboise  laughed  louder  and 
longer  than  any  one,  kept  on  repeating  the  last  words  of  the 
story,  and  again  insisted  on  wringing  the  dancer’s  slender 
white  hands.  Even  while  he  was  doing  this,  a procession  of 
two  old  gentlemen  entered  the  room, — two  old  gentlemen  who 
resembled  each  other  greatly,  for  each  of  them  was  stout,  each 
had  a bald  head  and  gold  spectacles,  and  each  wore  a large 
diamond  in  his  shirt-front.  They  marched  majestically  past 
the  table  at  which  Damboise  and  his  friends  were  having 
supper,  glanced  at  him  and  raised  their  opera-hats  very 
solemnly,  then  proceeded  to  two  seats  as  remote  as  possible 
from  that  hilarious  gathering.  Damboise  bowed  to  them 
profoundly,  and  regarded  them,  when  they  had  passed,  with 
the  expression  of  a mischievous  schoolboy  who  watches  the 
retreating  figure  of  the  master. 

Sandys  told  Denis  their  names,  and  their  names  told  him 
everything.  They  were  professors  of  music,  they  were 
baronets,  they  had  composed  oratorios,  and  they  were  highly 
honoured  in  England.  As  they  sat  stiffly  opposite  one  another 
they  looked  almost  defiantly  satisfied  with  their  own  import- 
ance, but  Denis  knew  that,  compared  with  Damboise,  they 
were  as  cruses  of  water  to  the  great  sea.  Damboise  had  all  the 
knowledge  which  had  made  them  pedantic,  and  it  was  merely 
the  grammar  of  his  art  ; he  had  gone  far  beyond  all  that. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


319 


After  a moment  the  voices  and  laughter  at  his  table  became 
louder  than  ever,  and  occasionally  the  two  baronets  sent  a 
glance  towards  it  that  was  almost  too  majestic  to  signify  dis- 
approval. Denis  thought  that  the  contrast  between  their 
pompous  stiffness  and  the  great  artist's  joyous  absurdity  was 
extremely  piquant,  and  also  extremely  significant.  The  really 
big  men,  he  felt,  were  always  like  that — simple,  and  jovial, 
and  full  of  boyish  high  spirits,  whereas  the  second-rate  men, 
the  pedants,  were  solemn  and  self-important  and  utterly 
sterile. 

He  was  watching  the  great  violinist  half  an  hour  later,  when 
a tall  figure  in  dress-clothes  and  an  opera-hat — a form  of  head- 
gear  that  Denis  vaguely  associated  with  gilded  dissipation — 
obtruded  itself  between  him  and  the  jovial  supper-party.  He 
looked  up,  and  to  his  intense  surprise  recognised  Lenwood — a 
novel  and  amazing  Lenwood,  beautifully  dressed,  and  leaning 
on  an  ebony  stick.  Denis  was  so  greatly  astonished  by  this 
apparition  that  he  stared  for  a moment  without  speaking  ; 
Noel,  however,  was  less  startled  by  the  magnificence  of  his  old 
schoolfellow. 

‘ Why,  it 's  old  Frowzy  ! * he  exclaimed.  ‘ What  a blood 
you  've  grown,  my  dear  ! Are  you  going  to  have  supper  ? 
Come  and  sit  with  us  if  you  're  alone.  We  're  all  sadly  in 
need  of  improving  conversation.  What  a funny  hat  you  're 
wearing  ! ' 

He  introduced  Lenwood  to  Sandys  and  Wilson.  Lenwood 
bowed  to  them  with  a flourish.  Denis  still  stared  at  him  ; the 
change  in  his  aspect  was  almost  beyond  belief,  and  for  some 
reason  he  reminded  the  boy  of  Malvolio — of  Malvolio  in  love 
and  cross-gartered.  The  old,  haggard  solemnity  of  his  face 
was  wreathed  with  a perpetual  and  slightly  fatuous  smile  ; he 
wore  a large  antique  intaglio  on  his  left  hand,  and  an  eyeglass 
with  a kind  of  golden  balcony  round  its  edge  depended  by  a 
thin  satin  ribbon  from  his  neck. 

‘ You  're  still  running  Oxford,  I suppose  ? ' said  Noel. 

‘ I am  still  at  Oxford,'  said  Lenwood  ; ‘ but  I have  been 
down  for  six  weeks,  and  the  memory  of  its  absurdity  has  faded 
at  last.  I shall  have  to  stay  there,  I suppose  ; they  spoke  of 


320 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


giving  me  a fellowship  at  Balliol,  and  of  course  there  is  the 
All  Souls  thing  later  on.' 

Little  Sandys  addressed  him  with  nervous  politeness. 

‘ Is  Balliol  one  of  the  well-known  colleges  of  Oxford  ? ' he 
asked.  The  question  seemed  to  astonish  Lenwood. 

‘Yes,  I believe  so/  he  answered.  ‘ You  ought  to  say  that 
to  a Balliol  don.  I should  like  to  see  his  face.  Oxford  is  all 
very  well/  he  continued,  turning  to  Noel  and  Denis,  ‘ but  you 
don't  know  what  a joy  it  is  to  me  to  come  to  this  kind  of  thing 
— to  get  into  real  life  ! It 's  as  good  as  the  first  sensation  of 
health  after  a long  illness.'  He  drew  a deep  breath,  and  put 
up  his  eyeglass,  which  fell  immediately. 

‘ Well,  from  all  that  old  Arbuthnot  told  me,'  said  Noel, 

‘ there  seems  to  be  a certain  amount  of  real  life  even  in  Oxford. 
He  managed  to  have  a very  good  time  in  spite  of  having  to  go 
into  training  three  or  four  times  a year.' 

‘ Oh  ! of  course  that  kind  of  man  ! ' said  Lenwood.  ‘ I was 
speaking  of  the  life  of  the  mind.' 

‘ Ah  yes,  exactly  so  ! ' said  little  Sandys.  ‘ You  find  the 
place,  in  that  respect,  somewhat — er — stagnant  ? ' 

Lenwood  nodded. 

‘ It 's  like  living  in  a combination  of  a library  and  a morgue/ 
he  explained  ; ‘ and  unless  you  throw  yourself  violently  into 
the  arms  of  sensation  its  influence  haunts  you  everywhere. 
For  a long  time  I abandoned  myself  to  it,  and  then,  one  day,  I 
realised  that  I was  becoming  like  all  the  others,  I saw  that  some 
tremendous  tonic  was  necessary  to  save  my  soul.' 

‘ You  should  try  occultism,'  said  Wilson,  with  the  voice 
of  a chemist  who  recommends  a patent  medicine.  ‘ It 's  the 
finest  antidote  to  academic  methods  of  thought.' 

‘ I hate  all  isms,'  Lenwood  answered  languidly,  and  Denis 
laughed.  ‘ For  a long  time,'  continued  Lenwood,  ‘ I searched 
for  my  remedy.  I tried  Italy,  and  Italian  art ; but  Italy, 
nowadays,  is  a suburb  of  Oxford  ; Ruskin  and  Pater  ruined  it, 
and  art,  especially  antique  art,  is  only  an  anodyne  ; it  isn't  a 
tonic.  Quite  suddenly  I found  that  my  cure  lay  no  further 
away  than  London.  This  kind  of  life,  I 've  realised,  is  the  very 
thing  to  counteract  Oxford  : it 's  everything  that  Oxford  isn't ; 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


321 


it 's  vulgar,  it 's  vivid  ; it 's  tawdry,  it 's  flamboyant.  Nothing 
is  ordered  and  sorted  ; pleasure  and  sorrow  are  hand  in  hand  ; 
shame  and  virtue  rub  shoulders  together.  At  first  it  was 
staggering.  To  use  a dreadfully  commonplace  simile,  I in- 
habited the  Platonic  cave  of  shadows  for  so  long  that  I was 
blinded  by  the  fierce  glare  of  reality.  But  now  I 'm  used  to 
it ; I bask.  I only  hope/  he  concluded  sententiously,  ‘ that  I 
am  not  too  late/ 

For  a moment  Denis  had  a wild  suspicion  that  Lenwood  was 
laughing  at  them — that  his  stick,  his  eyeglass,  and  his  fantastic 
language  were  all  part  of  some  ridiculous  travesty.  But  as 
Lenwood  expounded  his  theory,  with  many  allusions  to  the 
shadier  side  of  London's  opportunities  for  nocturnal  dissipa- 
tion, he  abandoned  this  idea.  Lenwood's  life  at  Oxford  had 
seemed  to  him  sufficiently  misguided — a wilful  living  in  sad- 
ness ; but  this  new  aspect  of  his  friend  was  far  more  preposter- 
ous ; he  was  like  an  owl  walking  abroad  amid  the  sun-rays 
in  a suit  of  peacock's  feathers.  Certainly  he  looked  healthier 
than  when  Denis  had  seen  him  at  Oxford,  though  his  baldness 
had  increased,  and  he  was  terribly  short-sighted,  especially 
when  he  wore  his  eyeglass.  In  spite  of  his  self-satisfaction, 
it  was  almost  pathetic,  Denis  thought,  to  see  him  playing  a 
part  for  which  Nature  had  certainly  not  designed  him. 
Formerly,  though  he  had  acquired  a great  many  of  the  defects 
which  often  go  with  the  scholar's  temperament,  he  had  at 
least  possessed  some  of  the  compensatory  virtues,  but  now  he 
had  renounced  these,  and  had  forsaken  the  study  for  the  music- 
hall — a Diogenes  turned  Brummell ! Denis  glanced  at  Noel, 
anxious  to  see  if  he  also  was  conscious  of  the  idiocy  of  Len  wood's 
metamorphosis,  but  Noel  apparently  attached  no  particular 
importance  to  the  change,  and  was  gravely  telling  the  votary 
of  pleasure  where  to  obtain  the  best  absinthe  in  Paris.  Len- 
wood had  visited  Paris  ; he  knew  the  tourist-haunted  cabarets 
of  Montmartre,  and  was  evidently  very  proud  of  his  know- 
ledge ; he  had  even  visited  a Bal  Bullier  (he  had  lately  learnt 
to  dance)  and  had  conversed  with  a lady  who  was  clothed  as 
simply  as  Venus  when  she  rose  superbly  from  the  sapphire 
sea.  1 A naked  woman  is  a wonderful  sight/  said  the  sage  ; 


x 


322 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


and  Denis  remembered  his  old  impression  that  Lenwood 
always  liked  all  the  right  things  in  the  wrong  way. 

Lenwood  appeared  to  be  impressed  by  the  information  that 
his  four  companions  were  all  engaged  in  the  practice  of  one  or 
another  form  of  art.  ‘ You  artists  know  how  to  live  ! ’ he 
said,  and  Denis  smiled  as  he  thought  of  little  Sandys’  frock- 
coat,  which  always  suggested  Evangelical  meetings,  and  of 
the  tranquil  life  of  Noel  and  himself  in  Chelsea.  Lenwood, 
in  matters  of  art  and  literature,  displayed  his  usual  omnisci- 
ence ; he  spoke  admiringly  of  Beardsley,  and  debated  whether 
it  was  possible  to  obtain  originals  of  Felicien  Rops.  He  had 
met  certain  artists  in  Paris  ; it  appeared  that  they  had  in- 
volved him  in  some  ridiculously  sordid  affairs,  ‘and  all  the 
time  I thought  of  Oxford,  and  the  poor  blind  thing  called  my 
tutor.  If  only  he  could  have  seen  me  ! ' He  talked  to  Wilson 
about  the  rites  of  the  East,  and  spoke  with  fervour  of  a book 
called  the  Khama-sutra  of  which  Denis  had  never  heard. 
Damboise  excited  his  admiration.  ‘ A grand  head/  he  said  ; 
‘ what  power,  and  how  extraordinarily  sensual ! His  mistress 
is  quite  beautiful/  He  seemed  very  much  disappointed  when 
the  identity  of  the  lady  in  question  was  revealed  to  him,  and 
when  little  Sandys  informed  him  that  the  great  violinist  was 
a deeply  respectable  married  man.  A moment  later  the  entry 
of  a florid  gentleman  in  a too  sumptuous  fur  coat  attracted 
his  attention.  ‘ Look  at  him  ! ’ he  exclaimed  ; ‘ how  he  has 
lived  ! how  he  has  used  his  life  ! ’ 

‘ Well,  he  ’s  got  a very  red  nose  ! 9 cried  little  Sandys  in  his 
shrill  voice. 

‘ I don’t  think  he  has  been  living  the  life  of  the  mind,’  added 
Denis.  He  was  becoming  somewhat  weary  of  Lenwood’s 
theories  ; the  long  day  of  work,  the  walk,  the  concert,  and  the 
bad  air  in  the  restaurant  made  him  desirous  of  his  bed.  He 
was  also  slightly  annoyed  because  Lenwood,  as  usual,  had 
evinced  no  sort  of  interest  in  his  existence,  had  asked  no 
questions  about  his  work.  Lenwood,  indeed,  scarcely  spoke 
to  him  or  to  Noel,  regarded  Sandys  with  mild  contempt,  and 
addressed  most  of  his  remarks  to  Wilson,  who  became  bored 
and  tried  to  avoid  his  eye  and  to  think  out  the  plot  of  a 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


323 


mystical  romance.  The  student  of  pleasure  consumed  a 
mezzo  of  Chianti,  and  then  drank  absinthe  and  water  as  a 
liqueur,  to  Noel’s  great  disgust.  He  became  voluble,  dis- 
cursive, and,  lastly,  lyrical.  Denis  watched  him  with  growing 
stupefaction  ; the  wine  and  absinthe,  and  the  many  deeply 
inhaled  cigarettes  were  all,  he  felt,  a part  of  Lenwood’s 
deliberate  scheme  for  counteracting  some  influence  that  he 
feared  ; he  was  afraid  of  becoming  a pedant,  of  course,  and 
this  was  a legitimate  terror  ; but  was  it  really  necessary  to 
rush  to  the  opposite  extreme  in  this  violent  way  ? Weren’t 
there  all  kinds  of  delightful  methods  of  keeping  life  from 
becoming  arid — laughter,  and  the  company  of  friends,  and 
walking-tours  and  the  consolation  of  the  Arts  ? But  Lenwood, 
of  course,  was  beyond  art,  and  had  never  cared  for  friendship. 
He  seemed  even  more  lonely  amongst  his  pleasures  than  in 
his  rooms  at  Balliol ; there,  at  any  rate,  he  had  the  society  of 
the  distinguished  anarchists  and  atheists,  flabby  beings  who 
would  certainly  not  bear  him  company  amid  his  present  flesh- 
pots.  He  thought  of  the  Lenwood  whom  he  had  known,  or 
tried  to  know,  at  school — self-confident,  defiant,  but  very 
wise  and  sane  ; and  then  he  looked  at  the  new  Lenwood,  whose 
face  was  flushed  and  weakened  with  wine,  who  talked  loudly 
and  foolishly,  and  was  perpetually  trying  to  fix  his  gold-rimmed 
glass  beneath  that  erstwhile  studious  brow.  Oh,  what  a fall 
was  there  ! With  startling  suddenness  the  truth  that  people 
could  change — even  the  people  who  had  seemed  absolutely 
formed  and  fixed — was  born  in  his  mind.  It  was  a relief  to 
look  at  Noel,  and  to  see  that  he  was  just  the  same  as  ever 
beneath  the  ambush  of  his  beard. 

His  attention  was  diverted  from  this  melancholy  spectacle 
by  the  sound  of  a great  scraping  of  chairs  on  the  floor.  Dam- 
boise  and  his  friends  had  risen,  and  were  preparing  to  depart 
amid  the  bows  of  the  entire  staff  of  the  restaurant.  As  the 
violinist  stood  in  the  act  of  drawing  on  his  gloves  his  glance 
rested  on  the  group  of  young  men  at  the  table  near  his  own  ) 
he  stared  for  a moment,  then  smiled  and  advanced  towards  it. 
He  had  eyes,  Denis  noticed,  that  looked  as  if  they  could  see  a 
hundred  miles  without  effort.  He  beamed  on  them  all  for  a 


324 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


moment,  looking  quickly  from  one  to  the  other,  then  shook 
hands  with  Sandys,  who  had  risen. 

‘ If  I had  known  you  were  here/  he  said,  with  a strong 
foreign  accent,  ‘ I should  have  tried  to  steal  you  from  your 
friends/ 

Sandys  smiled  and  blushed  beautifully, — it  was  delightful 
to  see  the  pleasure  that  he  derived  from  the  great  man’s 
little  act  of  courtesy.  * Oh  ! that ’s  very  good  of  you — 
extremely  good  ! 9 he  stammered,  standing  away  from  the 
table  and  gazing  up  with  his  funny  childish  smile  at  Damboise. 
‘ I may  say  that  it  has  been  a most  memorable  evening  for  all 
of  us  ! ’ He  waved  his  hand  towards  the  table,  and  Damboise 
smiled  at  Noel  and  Denis,  who  were  facing  him.-  He  began 
to  talk  French  to  Sandys,  who  replied  fluently  with  an  exe- 
crable accent ; apparently  they  were  discussing  the  concert. 
After  a moment,  however,  Denis  heard  Landberger’s  name, 
and  then  Damboise  glanced  at  him,  looking  serious,  and  said 
something  wThich  sounded  like  ‘ une  vraie  tSte  d’artiste.’ 
Sandys  also  looked  at  him,  and  made  a sign,  but  before  he 
could  move  Damboise  came  quickly  round  the  table — he 
moved  with  a lightness  amazing  in  so  large  a man — and  held 
out  his  hand.  Denis  sprang  up  and  shook  it,  feeling  rather 
frightened. 

‘ I have  heard  of  you,  Mr.  Yorke/  Damboise  said,  and  he 
looked  so  jolly  and  friendly  that  Denis’s  fear  vanished  instantly. 
4 Landberger  is  one  of  my  oldest  friends  ; we  were  at  Leipsic 
together, — ah ! before  you  were  born,  and  before  he  grew 
angry  and  I grew  fat.  And  it  seems  you  are  his  favourite  pupil ; 
he  has  great  hope  of  you  ; he  tells  me  you  are  going  to  beat  us 
all.  Lucky  for  me  I do  not  play  the  piano,  eh  ? ’ 

Denis  managed  to  explain  that  he  was  certainly  not  a 
favourite  of  Landberger’s.  ‘ I never  satisfy  him,’  he  said, 
with  a comic  look  of  despair,  ‘ and  he  says  my  hands  get  worse 
and  worse,  just  like ’ 

‘ I know,  I know  ! ’ shouted  the  violinist ; ‘ like  sausages 
on  a string.  The  old  saying  ! and  if  it  is  a singer  who  goes  to 
him,  he  says  to  him,  “ Mister,  your  diaphragm  is  exact  in  its 
resemblance  to  a boiled  rabbit ; the  river  may  run  backwards, 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


325 


and  the  sun  swallow  the  moon,  but  never,  never  shall  song 
proceed  from  your  mouth.”  But  what  he  really  thinks  of 
you,  Mr.  Yorke,  is  something  very  different.  I wish  you  all 
success,  and  let  me  give  you  one  word  of  advice.  Whatever 
you  do,  cling  to  our  friend  here,'  and  he  put  his  hand  on 
Sandys'  shoulder.  ' He  is  one  in  a million,'  he  said  ; ‘ a 
man  of  iron,  a hero,  a Colosse  ! ’ The  association  of  Sandys 
with  anything  colossal  struck  Denis  as  very  remarkable. 
‘ We  shall  meet  again  ! ' said  the  great  man,  with  tremendous 
emphasis,  as  he  departed. 

Denis  was  overwhelmed  with  astonishment  that  Landberger 
should  have  thought  him  worth  mentioning  to  his  famous 
friend.  He  stood  staring  at  the  receding  back  of  the  violinist. 
‘ There  ! you  hear  what  he  says  ! ’ piped  Sandys.  ‘ Land- 
berger wouldn’t  say  a thing  of  that  kind  to  him  unless  he 
meant  it ! ' 

‘ He  always  talked  as  if  I should  never  be  really  any  good,' 
said  Denis ; ‘ but  I always  felt  that  I was  improving.' 

‘ Oh  ! you  'll  play  the  Kreutzer  with  him  yet,'  said  Sandys, 
waving  his  hand  towards  the  door.  Denis  laughed. 

4 If  I only  could  ! ' he  murmured,  as  they  returned  to  the 
table.  There  was  a light  in  his  eye  that  pleased  Sandys. 
Sweet  are  the  uses  of  encouragement,  thought  the  little  man, 
and  was  duly  grateful  to  Damboise  for  his  few  words.  As  for 
Denis,  he  felt  more  than  ever  tempted  to  renounce  his  holiday 
and  to  work  in  London  throughout  the  summer. 

As  they  separated,  Noel  asked  Lenwood  to  visit  the  studio 
whenever  he  had  nothing  better  to  do,  and  Lenwood  duly 
appeared  at  five  o'clock  on  the  next  day.  When  Denis 
came  into  the  room  after  a long  afternoon  of  scales  and 
exercises,  he  found  the  philosopher  lying  in  a deep  armchair 
and  talking  to  Topsy.  That  young  woman  was,  on  this 
occasion,  clothed  in  all  the  garments  decreed  by  convention  ; 
she  was  sitting  for  a figure  of  a girl  in  an  old  English  garden, 
and  wore  a white  muslin  frock  which  Noel  had  designed. 
The  afternoon  had  been  very  hot,  and  Topsy  seemed  rather 
tired  and  cross.  Noel,  in  shirt-sleeves,  with  his  big  arms  bare 
to  the  elbows,  was  working  silently  at  his  canvas.  Topsy 


326 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


seemed  to  be  already  on  familiar,  but  not  friendly,  terms  with 
Lenwood.  ‘ Here  ’s  Mr.  Yorke,’  she  said  as  Denis  entered  ; 
* now  he  ’s  the  kind  I like — much  better  than  you.  He  don’t 
pay  compliments  and  smirk  at  the  same  time  as  if  he  didn’t 
mean  ’em.  I never  could  abide  gentlemen  as  idle  about 
London  spending  their  money  and  twirling  a stick  in  the  air 
like  the  man  in  front  of  the  Guards’  band.  Give  me  a worker, 
say  I.  I ’m  a worker  myself.  They  ’re  my  sort ! ’ 

‘ I don’t  see  why  you  need  be,’  said  Lenwood.  ‘ You  ’re 
much  too  pretty.  Work  makes  people  dreadfully  plain.’ 

'Ah!  you’ve  done  some  in  your  time,  then!  ’ retorted  Topsy. 

Lenwood  blew  a cloud  of  cigarette  smoke,  and  said  that  he 
had  done  many  foolish  things  before  he  had  the  immense 
felicity  of  meeting  her.  Denis  found  a camp-stool  and  sat 
down  behind  Noel,  who  grunted  a greeting  without  removing 
his  eyes  from  his  work.  The  boy  was  vaguely  irritated  by  the 
tone  of  Lenwood’s  voice  ; he  had  hoped  that  the  new  aspect  of 
his  old  schoolfellow  would  be  less  perceptible  in  the  sane  light 
of  day  ; but  Lenwrood  seemed  as  idiotic  as  on  the  previous 
evening.  His  wit  was  of  the  feeblest  description,  a poor  copy 
of  the  kind  of  nonsense  that  a vapid  youth  would  exchange 
with  a barmaid,  and  he  regarded  Topsy  with  a patronising  air 
that  was  almost  insolent.  Denis  liked  Topsy  ; she  was  talka- 
tive and  self-complacent  and  sometimes  rather  greedy,  he 
thought,  but  she  had  certain  excellent  qualities  ; she  was 
staunch  on  behalf  of  her  friends  and  never  told  lies. 

The  foolish  interchange  of  verbal  horseplay  continued  for 
some  time.  Lenwood  had  much  the  worst  of  it,  but  he  did  not 
seem  to  perceive  it,  and  sat  watching  his  opponent  with  a 
superior  smile.  Topsy  was  obviously  growing  exasperated  ; 
she  flushed  angrily,  and  spoke  through  her  teeth.  Denis  knew 
that  she  was  very  tired — she  had  volunteered  to  remain  for  an 
extra  hour  each  day  because  she  knew  that  Noel  was  anxious 
to  finish  his  figure  before  he  went  to  France — and  he  thought 
that  Lenwood  might  have  had  the  sense  to  observe  her 
fatigue.  Noel  was  absorbed  in  his  work,  and  for  some  time 
continued  to  ignore  the  contending  flights  of  epigram  ; at  last, 
however,  he  looked  up  from  his  canvas,  and  spoke. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


327 


‘ Quiet  a minute,  please,  Topsy,'  he  said ; ‘ I can't  get  the 
face  if  your  mouth  keeps  on  wandering  round  like  a train  on 
the  District  Railway.'  But  Denis  noticed  that  Noel  was  at 
that  moment  working  on  the  dress  of  his  figure.  Topsy 
shrugged  her  shoulders. 

‘Oh!  I didn't  know  that  you  wanted  my  face  ! ' she  said 
crossly. 

‘ What  else  could  he  want  ? ' asked  Lenwood,  and  Denis 
sighed.  It  was  so  ridiculous  to  talk  like  that  in  a studio  ; the 
atmosphere  was  all  wrong.  Topsy  preserved  a sulky  silence 
during  the  remainder  of  the  sitting,  declined  tea,  and  departed 
with  the  curtest  of  good-nights  to  Noel  and  Denis  and  without 
looking  at  Lenwood.  She  had  refused  to  change  her  clothes, 
made  a bundle  of  her  own  garments,  and  went  away  in  all  the 
glory  of  Noel's  muslin  frock. 

* My  dear  Tellier,'  Lenwood  cried  as  soon  as  she  had  gone, 
4 she 's  admirable  ! Where  did  you  find  her  ? I never  met 
anything  so  amusing  and  yet  so  banal.  And  what  a figure  ! ' 
He  sighed  loudly,  then  rose  and  went  towards  Noel,  who  was 
cleaning  his  palette.  ‘ Observe  me,  Tellier,'  he  said  theatri- 
cally ; ‘ we  have  known  each  other  for  years,  and  I feel  that  I 
may  ask  you  a pertinent  question.  Are  you  very  intimate  ? ' 

Noel  was  whistling  vigorously  as  he  scraped  his  palette.  He 
broke  off  his  tune  and  looked  up  at  Lenwood. 

‘ Rather  ! ' he  said,  and  continued  to  whistle.  Lenwood 
frowned. 

‘ You  understand  me,  don't  you  ? ' he  said. 

‘ No,'  answered  Noel,  in  the  middle  of  a tremolo.  He 
finished  it  and  ran  up  a scale.  ‘ No,'  he  said,  ‘ and  never  did.' 

‘ Then  I 'll  be  frankly  explicit,'  said  Lenwood.  ‘ In  plain 
brutal  English,  is  she  your  mistress  ? ' 

For  a moment  Denis  thought  that  Noel  was  about  to 
remove  the  rest  of  the  paint  on  his  palette  by  applying  that 
implement  to  Lenwood's  face.  He  stared  at  him. 

‘ Mistress  be  damned  ! ' he  said  emphatically,  ‘ she 's  a 
model.' 

‘ Ah  ! ' said  Lenwood.  ‘ No  harm  in  my  asking,  was  there  ? 
One  likes  to  be  careful.  Acts  of  piracy  are  illegitimate  between 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


328 

friends,  of  course/  Noel  continued  to  stare  for  at  least  a 
minute,  then  he  put  down  his  palette.  A slow  smile  irradiated 
his  red  face. 

‘ I must  go  and  wash/  he  said.  Next  moment  the  sound  of 
splashing  water  rose  in  the  adjoining  room,  and  mingled  with 
it  another  sound  as  of  gurgles  and  gasps.  But  Lenwood  did 
not  hear  it.  He  was  speaking  to  Denis. 

‘ She 's  splendid  ! ' he  said.  * But  perhaps  I pressed  her  a 
little  too  hard.  Do  you  think  she  was  offended  ? She  spoke 
as  if  she  was,  of  course,  but  she  looked  quite  other  things. 
She 's  a clever  comedian,  of  course/ 

4 She  was  very  tired/  said  Denis,  ‘ and  I don't  think  she 
liked  you  much/  Lenwood  did  not  appear  to  attach  any 
importance  to  this  brusque  assertion. 

‘ I 'll  send  her  a peace-offering,'  he  said.  ‘ A box  of  choco- 
lates. She  was  eating  chocolates  just  before  you  came  in  ; 
it  was  splendid  to  see  her  do  it.  She 's  wonderfully  animal. 
Where  does  she  live  ? ' 

Denis  told  him,  and  immediately  felt  that  he  had  been 
foolish.  Topsy  didn't  want  to  be  troubled  by  Lenwood. 
However,  there  was  no  denying  the  fact  that  she  had  a passion 
for  chocolates.  Lenwood  departed  very  soon  afterwards,  and 
Noel  tramped  to  and  fro  in  the  studio  and  devoted  him  to 
perdition  in  all  the  languages  that  he  knew. 

‘ He 's  as  mad  as  a wolf  ! ' he  said.  ‘ He  shan't  come  here 
never  no  more,  Denis — at  least,  he  shan't  come  when  I 've  a 
model.  Topsy  was  trembling  with  rage  ; I expected  her  to 
scratch  his  face,  smash  my  picture,  embrace  you,  and  depart 
for  ever  in  violent  hysterics.  I 'm  very  glad  we  're  going 
away  ; he  makes  the  soles  of  my  feet  tickle.' 

‘ I don't  know  what 's  the  matter  with  him,'  said  Denis. 

‘ I do,'  said  Noel.  ‘ It 's  sex.  It  takes  your  stuffy  scholars 
like  that  sometimes.  I remember  cases  at  school.' 

‘ Oh  ! ' said  Denis,  and  became  thoughtful. 

Two  days  later,  while  they  were  having  tea  and  looking  at 
a large-scale  map  of  the  forest  of  Fontainebleau,  there  was 
a knock  at  the  door  and  Topsy  entered.  Noel  looked  at 
her  with  a certain  astonishment,  for  his  picture  was  finished. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


329 

and  Topsy  was  not  in  the  habit  of  paying  friendly  visits  to 
studios. 

‘ I don't  want  you,  Topsy,'  he  said  politely  ; ‘ didn't  I tell 
you  so  last  time  ? You  can  go  away  and  enjoy  life.' 

‘ I know,'  said  Topsy,  ‘ I know.'  They  noticed  then  that 
she  looked  very  grim  and  had  no  smile  for  either  of  them. 

* Hullo  ! what 's  wrong  ? ' Noel  cried. 

‘ Nothing,'  Topsy  answered  ; ‘ nothing  worth  speaking  of. 
I only  looked  in  to  tell  you  that  you  won't  see  anything  more 
of  that  lovely  friend  of  yours.  He  won't  come  here  any  more, 
with  his  silly  cackle  and  his  footling  old  jokes.  And  if  you 
want  to  know  why  he  won’t  come,  I 'll  tell  you.  I 've  warned 
him  off.' 

‘ Very  obliging  of  you,'  said  Noel.  ‘ And  now  take  a good 
long  breath,  compose  your  thoughts,  and  tell  us  exactly  what 
you  mean.  You  look  like  Lady  Macbeth.' 

Topsy  advanced  a few  steps  towards  him. 

‘ And  you  ' d look  like  Lady  Macbeth  and  Lord  Macbeth  as 
well  if  you 'd  been  through  what  I went  through  yesterday,' 
she  said  indignantly.  ‘ I was  sitting  sewing  about  half-past 
nine  when  Mrs.  Joyce — that 's  my  landlady — came  in  and  said 
there  was  a young  man  wanted  to  see  me,  a young  man  that 
looked  like  a gentleman  and  said  he  was  my  cousin.  I haven't 
got  any  cousins,  and  I don't  hold  with  young  men  who  come 
at  night  and  say  they  're  your  relations,  especially  when  they 
look  like  gentlemen.  I was  just  going  to  tell  Mrs.  Joyce  to 
send  him  off  to  catch  moths  on  the  Embankment,  when  the 
door  opens,  and  in  he  comes — your  friend  who  was  so  saucy 
the  other  day — your  Mr.  Lenwood — though  he  said  his  name 
was  Percy.  I was  so  astonished  that  for  a minute  I didn’t 
say  anything,  and  Mrs.  Joyce,  who 's  deaf  and  has  got  about 
as  much  sense  as  that  lay  figure,  waddles  out  and  leaves  him 
there.  At  first  I thought  he 'd  brought  a letter  from  you,  and 
spoke  quite  civil  to  him,  and  then  he  began.  You  never  heard 
such  a pack  of  gibberish  in  all  your  born  days, — poetical,  I 
suppose  it  was,  but  give  me  old  Victoria's  English,  and  very 
little  of  that  from  his  kind  ! He  went  on  without  stopping  for 
five  minutes,  and  then  he  became  very  familiar,  and  tried  to 


330 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


catch  hold  of  me,  and  of  course  I saw  then  what  kind  he  was, 
and  what  kind,  I suppose,  he  thought  me.  So  I let  him  have 
it  straight  and  plain,  and  after  he 'd  listened  to  what  I said  he 
did  begin  to  look  as  if  he  thought  he  'd  made  an  awful  mistake, 
and  then  I told  him  that  if  ever  I set  eyes  on  him  again  I 'd 
summon  him  for  assault.  I called  Mrs.  Joyce  and  told  her  to 
look  hard  at  him  so  that  she  would  know  him  again,  and  then 
he  cursed  and  swore  dreadful  and  told  her  she  was  a black- 
mailing old  vampire, — but  she  's  so  deaf  that  she  couldn't  hear 
him,  and  told  me  that  I ought  to  be  ashamed  of  myself.  I was 
so  startled  when  he  said  it  that  he  was  gone  before  I could  tell 
him  properly  where  the  shame  ought  to  be.'  Topsy  paused 
for  breath,  and  then  continued : ‘ That 's  what  happened,  and 
you  won't  see  him  again,  and  I rather  fancy  he  won't  go  and 
see  respectable  girls  at  half-past  nine  without  finding  out  all 
about  'em  first.  Taking  me  for  a common  woman  ! And 
now,  what  I want  to  know  is,  who  told  him  my  address  ? I 
bet  you  did,  Mr.  Tellier,  and  it 's  too  bad  of  you.  You  knew 
what  sort  he  was.' 

‘ No,  I told  him,'  said  Denis.  She  stared  at  him. 

‘ You  ! ' she  cried ; 4 that 's  worse  and  worse.'  She  continued 
to  look  at  him  with  a kind  of  offended  curiosity.  ‘ Why  did 
you  tell  him  ? ' she  asked. 

‘ He  said  he  wanted  to  send  you  some  chocolates,'  Denis 
explained. 

‘ Oh,  he  did,  did  he  ! ' said  Topsy  with  much  vigour.  Then 
she  turned  to  Noel  and  remarked,  evidently  alluding  to  Denis, 

‘ He  seems  sensible  as  a rule,  but  he  don't  know  much.  You 
ought  to  tell  him  things,  Mr.  Tellier.' 

Denis  was  young  enough  to  feel  almost  insulted  by  this 
remark.  Next  morning  he  called  at  the  rooms  in  Jermyn 
Street  where  Lenwood  had  been  lodging,  and  found  that  the 
philosopher  had  departed  to  some  place  unknown.  He  was 
very  glad  to  hear  it,  and  hoped  devoutly  that  work  and  a 
change  of  scene  would  complete  the  cure  which  Topsy, 
presumably,  had  begun. 

It  was  a long  time  since  he  had  allowed  himself  a morning  of 
idleness,  and  he  decided  to  celebrate  it  by  going  to  the  National 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


33i 


Gallery.  When  he  had  ascended  the  steps  he  halted  for  a 
moment  under  the  portico  to  enjoy  the  incomparable  view  of 
Whitehall  and  Westminster,  and  to  watch  the  streams  of 
traffic  that  poured  through  the  great  bleak  square.  That 
particular  point  of  vantage  always  seemed  to  him  the  real 
centre  of  the  city,  the  umbilicus  Londinii,  and  he  never  visited 
the  great  collection  without  lingering  for  five  or  ten  minutes 
at  its  entrance.  On  this  particular  morning  he  remained  there 
for  an  even  longer  time  ; in  the  hazy  August  sunshine  the 
towers  of  Westminster  were  like  filmy  palaces  seen  in  dreams, 
and  the  square  that  was  usually  so  sombre  and  grimy  was 
beautiful  with  the  tawny  glow  of  far-advanced  summer.  The 
dry  leaves  of  the  plane-trees  hung  limply,  and  the  air  was 
already  sultry  and  dust-laden.  London  was  exhausted  ; it 
seemed  to  pant  vainly  for  breath,  but  there  was  a peculiar 
charm  even  in  its  most  enervated  aspect ; now  that  its  life- 
blood flowed  slowly  and  heavily,  one  seemed  able  to  realise 
more  clearly  the  immensity  of  its  past — so  many  weary 
centuries  of  noise  and  toil,  so  many  generations  of  wayfarers  ! 
This  stagnant  period  in  London  life,  Denis  thought,  was  like 
the  halt  of  an  army  during  some  long  march,  when  you 
counted  your  dead,  and  reckoned  the  miles  that  you  had 
traversed  and  the  miles  yet  to  be  conquered,  and,  perhaps, 
wondered  if,  after  all,  it  was  really  worth  while. 

He  was  on  the  point  of  entering  the  Gallery  when  his  eyes 
happened  to  fall  on  a hansom  that  was  passing  the  portico. 
He  was  amused  to  notice  that  the  driver  had  fixed  two 
artificial  roses  of  a bright  magenta  hue  above  his  horse's 
blinkers,  and  then  he  glanced  idly  at  the  occupant.  Next 
moment  he  was  standing  between  the  Corinthian  columns 
staring  at  the  hansom,  which  passed  rapidly ; then  he  ran 
down  the  steps,  almost  colliding  with  an  immense  policeman. 
When  he  reached  the  pavement  the  cab  was  in  Cockspur 
Street,  and  a moment  later  it  turned  into  the  Haymarket  and 
was  lost  to  view. 

As  he  stood  there,  the  surprise  of  seeing  his  father  in  London 
was  overwhelmed  in  the  amazement  which  seized  him  as  he 
realised  that  for  one  moment  he  had  been  the  helpless  prey  of 


332 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


a blind,  irresistible  impulse  ; it  seemed  as  if  strong,  invisible 
hands  had  thrust  him  down  the  steps  and  urged  him  towards 
Dr.  Yorke.  Although  he  had  only  caught  the  briefest  glimpse 
of  the  face  in  the  hansom,  and  although  that  face  was  changed 
— older,  more  grey,  more  grim — he  was  quite  certain  of  its 
identity  ; there  seemed  some  inward  instinct  which  confirmed 
the  doubtful  testimony  of  his  eyes.  This  was  extremely  odd, 
for,  of  course,  he  had  no  desire  to  see  his  father. 

He  re-ascended  the  steps,  entered  the  Gallery,  and  sat  down 
in  front  of  Leonardo's  Holy  Family.  His  heart  was  beating 
quickly ; he  felt  as  if  he  had  passed  through  some  intensely 
exciting  experience.  Yet,  after  all,  it  was  nothing  ; he  knew 
that  it  was  Dr.  Yorke's  habit  to  come  up  to  London  once  or 
twice  a year  ; why  should  he  be  so  strangely  troubled  ? His 
sensations  were  certainly  not  caused  by  any  fear  that  his 
father  had  come  to  lure  him  back  into  bondage ; he  had  taken 
root  in  London  now,  and  there  was  no  means  of  removing  him 
except  actual  violence — a method  to  which,  it  was  presumable, 
Dr.  Yorke  could  not  resort.  There  was  no  fear  of  their 
meeting  ; he  was  going  to  France  to-morrow,  and  could  easily 
pass  the  morning  in  the  Gallery,  go  to  Hampstead  in  the  after- 
noon, and  return  to  the  studio  later  in  the  evening.  And,  of 
course,  it  was  extremely  improbable  that  Dr.  Yorke  would 
invade  Chelsea. 

Denis  gazed  at  the  face  of  the  Virgin  of  the  Rocks,  with  its 
subtle,  serene  smile,  and  as  he  contemplated  it  he  thought  of 
that  other  face  which  he  had  seen  for  one  moment  as  it 
whirled  past  him.  Surely  his  eyes  had  played  him  false  ; no 
face  could  change  in  four  months  as  it  seemed  that  his  father's 
had  changed  ; its  alteration  was  due  to  some  extraneous 
cause  ; the  queer  light  in  the  square,  or  a reflection  from  the 
mirrors  in  the  hansom.  Or,  perhaps,  he  had  imagined  it 
because  of  what  Gabriel  had  written  in  his  stupid  letter.  . . . 
He  had  never  thought  of  Gabriel  since  without  a certain 
irritation.  Of  course  Gabriel  would  say  that  Dr.  Yorke  had 
grown  worn  and  old  and  pathetic  because  his  son  ran  away 
from  home  ; that  was  just  like  Gabriel ; he  was  always  so 
sentimental.  Really,  of  course,  old  people  always  looked  like 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


333 

that  for  no  particular  reason,  and  Dr.  Yorke  was  quite  old 
now — well  over  sixty — quite  old. 

After  a while  he  rose  from  his  chair  and  wandered  about  the 
Gallery  with  aimless  feet.  He  halted  at  last  before  Albrecht 
Durer's  Portrait  of  his  Father — that  noble  presentment  of 
strength  which  has  grown  weary,  and  shrewd  wisdom  that  has 
begun  to  realise  the  vanity  of  the  prizes  for  which  men  toil 
so  madly,  so  that  there  is  a hint  of  pathetic  irony  in  the  lines 
of  the  firm  lips,  and  the  keen  eyes  are  faintly  clouded.  The 
great  German  painter  had  been  fortunate,  he  thought,  and,  if 
the  picture  was  a credible  witness,  had  realised  his  good 
fortune.  But  did  any  one  ever  realise  it  ? Wasn't  one 
always  blind  to  people's  finest  qualities  until  they  had  died, 
and  it  was  too  late  ? Not  blind,  of  course,  to  the  qualities  of 
supremely  delightful  people  such  as  Rosalind  and  Noel,  but 
to  those  of  shy,  awkward,  less  fortunate  people,  whose  lives 
were  full  of  blunders,  who  irritated  you  and  made  you  think 
them  wilfully  cruel,  but  who  kept,  perhaps,  some  tiny  flame 
of  devotion  and  self-sacrifice  alight  in  the  commonplace  gloom 
of  their  dreary  existence. 

These  thoughts,  and  many  others,  passed  through  his  mind 
as  he  stood  opposite  the  great  picture.  At  length  he  strode 
away  with  the  step  of  one  who,  after  long  wavering,  decides  on 
a course  of  action,  left  the  Gallery,  and  hailed  a hansom — 
indulging  in  a most  unusual  luxury.  He  drove  to  Chelsea, 
and  found,  when  he  reached  the  studio,  that  Noel  had  gone 
out.  No  one,  the  old  charwoman  informed  him,  had  called 
during  the  morning.  He  ate  a fragmentary  luncheon,  and 
settled  himself  by  the  window  with  a book. 

He  read  fitfully,  however,  for  he  was  disturbed  by  the 
peculiar  novelty  of  his  state  of  mind.  He  knew  that  he  would 
feel  relieved  if  his  father  did  not  come,  yet  he  knew  also  that 
he  would  feel  another  sensation  for  which  he  could  not 
account  satisfactorily.  Possibly  it  would  be  wounded  vanity 
— annoyance  because  his  father  didn't  think  him  worth  seeing 
— yet  he  felt  that  it  was  something  more  intimate,  more  vital, 
something  which  made  him  feel  lonely,  actually  lonely,  even 
in  Noel's  studio,  with  Rosalind  living  in  Hampstead  ! Obvi- 


334 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


ously  there  was  a joint  in  his  armour  of  which  he  had  never 
suspected  the  existence.  Was  there  really  some  subtle  tie 
between  relatives  which  nothing  in  the  world  could  break  ? 
If  this  were  so,  it  was  a great  injustice  on  the  part  of  Nature. 

It  was  very  hot  in  the  studio.  Some  flies  buzzed  in  the 
heavy  sunlight,  and  for  the  first  time  he  found  the  smell  of 
paint  unpleasant.  An  old  man  of  forlorn  aspect  played  hymn 
tunes  on  a wheezy  organ  below  the  window,  and  cursed 
querulously  at  some  squalid  children  who  jeered  at  him.  The 
tide  had  ebbed,  and  the  air  that  drifted  in  across  the  river 
smelt  like  foul  gas.  From  where  he  sat,  he  could  hear  the 
sparrows  fluttering  in  the  dust  of  the  roadside,  and  the  sound 
irritated  him  vaguely. 

Noel  found  him  sitting  there  when  he  returned  about  seven 
o’clock.  ‘ Hullo  ! ’ he  said.  4 You  look  rather  done  up  ! 
Too  many  chromatic  scales,  I expect.  No  matter  ! We  retire 
to-morrow  at  io  A.M.,  and  who  do  you  think  are  going  to  retire 
with  us  ? Rosalind  and  Amory,  par  exemple  ! ’ 

Denis  received  this  piece  of  news  in  silence,  much  to  the 
surprise  of  Noel.  ‘ I ’m  afraid/  he  said,  after  a moment, 
‘ that  I shan’t  be  able  to  come  to-morrow.’ 

Noel  stared  at  him. 

‘ What ’s  the  matter  with  you,  anyhow  ? ’ he  demanded. 
‘ You  look  like  a sick  king  in  Bokhara.  Don’t  you  imagine, 
my  young  friend,  that  we  ’re  going  to  let  you  stay  here  and 
work.  This  place  isn’t  healthy  after  July.  That  river  stinks 
like  a factory  of  chemicals.  Go  away  and  pack  your  gold- 
mounted  dressing-cases.’ 

* I saw  my  father  in  London  this  morning,’  said  Denis. 
‘ I think  I had  better  wait — in  case — in  case  he  thinks  of 
looking  me  up,  you  know.’ 

Noel  made  pantomimic  gestures  of  astonishment. 

‘ Well,  he  had  all  to-day,’  he  said. 

‘ I know,’  said  Denis  ; 4 of  course  he  won’t  come.  Still,  I 
think  it  would  be  rather  decenter  to  wait — just  for  another 
day.’ 

Noel  was  evidently  on  the  point  of  renewing  his  expostula- 
tions i then  he  glanced  at  Denis  and  became  silent.  After  a 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


335 


few  moments  he  said,  ‘ Do  as  you  like,  of  course.  But  you  'll 
join  us  in  Paris  the  day  after  to-morrow,  won't  you  ? You 
must  promise  that,  or  Rosalind  and  Amory  will  tear  me  limb 
from  limb.' 

‘ Oh  yes,  I 'll  do  that ! ' said  Denis  ; ‘ but  I feel  that  I ought 
to  wait  a day — I don't  know  why.' 

Noel  looked  at  him  again. 

* Oh  ! you  're  coming  on,  you  're  coming  on,'  he  said. 

So  Denis  waited  for  another  long  and  stuffy  day  in  the 
deserted  studio,  but  waited  in  vain.  If  Dr.  Yorke's  pathetic 
aspect  was  caused  by  his  son’s  absence,  he  showed  no  inclina- 
tion to  cure  it  by  the  obvious  remedy. 

At  seven  o'clock  Denis  finished  the  book  that  he  was  reading 
by  the  window,  and  at  nine  he  caught  the  night  express  to 
Paris.  He  had  done  his  best,  he  felt ; he  had  given  his  father 
every  chance.  And  now — and  now — for  France  and  freedom, 
and  Rosalind  ! 

As  he  had  anticipated,  he  felt  considerable  relief  at  having 
escaped  an  interview  with  his  father.  Yet,  mingled  with  the 
relief,  was  the  obscure  sensation  which  he  had  experienced  on 
the  previous  day.  There  was  a joint  in  his  harness,  but  no 
doubt  France  and  Rosalind  would  soon  cover  it  with  the  proof 
of  oblivion.  It  was  glorious  to  think  that  Rosalind  would  be 
with  them  in  Fontainebleau  ! As  he  looked  across  the  moonlit 
sea  he  could  easily  imagine  that  he  saw  her  face,  shining  a 
welcome  to  him  like  the  light  of  Grisnez,  and  then  the  other 
face — the  face  in  the  hansom — haunted  him  no  more.  Yet  it 
was  near  him,  he  knew,  and  might  easily  be  re-invoked. 


336 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


XXXIV 

HE  returned  to  London  at  the  end  of  September,  after 
a sojourn  of  six  delightful  weeks  at  a tiny  hotel  which 
had  contrived  to  prove  unattractive  to  the  Americans  who 
have  made  Barbizon  all  too  much  their  own.  There  was  a 
Corot  in  the  salle  a manger , and  a piano  in  the  salon  which  had 
been  left  there  by  a famous  actress  ; and  the  only  other  guests 
were  two  or  three  French  painters,  very  pleasant,  hard- 
working fellows  with  whom  the  four  visitors  from  London  soon 
became  extremely  intimate.  Denis  took  possession  of  the 
piano,  and  spent  the  earlier  hours  of  the  morning,  when  the 
rest  of  the  party  had  gone  their  several  ways  with  easels  and 
umbrellas,  in  finishing  some  songs  which  he  had  begun  in 
London.  He  sent  four  of  them  to  Mr.  Wallaby,  who  wrote 
him  a charming  letter  exhorting  him  to  continue,  and  request- 
ing him,  as  very  few  ballads  and  sevenfold  Amens  were  coming 
in,  to  add  three  weeks  to  his  holiday.  ‘ Obviously  the  place 
inspires  you/  wrote  the  amiable  Wallaby ; ‘ I am,  of  course, 
actuated  by  merely  selfish  motives  in  begging  you  to  prolong 
your  holiday,  for  I want — and  of  course  the  public  wants — 
many  more  songs.'  Now  that  he  was  agreeably  remote  from 
the  drudgery  of  reading  manuscripts,  Denis  was  able  to  con- 
gratulate himself  on  possessing  so  benevolent  a patron.  He 
wrote  no  more  songs,  however  ; for  some  time  he  had  been 
meditating  a loftier  flight — nothing  less  than  a suite  for  full 
orchestra,  and  as  he  walked  in  the  forest  the  preliminary  out- 
lines of  this  great  work  became  more  definite.  Little  Sandys, 
who  joined  the  party  for  a fortnight  before  starting  on  some 
vague  musical  crusade  in  America,  heard  certain  portions  of 
the  first  draft,  and  was  enthusiastic.  In  a very  short  time 
Denis  found  that  the  new  work  had  become  the  dominant 
fact  of  his  life  ; he  thought  about  it  all  day  and  often  dreamed 
of  it  all  night,  and  though  he  only  sat  down  to  work  for  two 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


337 


hours  each  morning  he  was  happily  conscious  that  it  was 
growing  continually  ; every  chance  experience  seemed  to  help 
it  onward,  everything  in  life  became  suggestive — the  birds  in 
the  forest,  the  bright  morning  sunshine  in  the  glades,  the 
laughter  of  Noel  and  the  French  painters,  and,  above  all,  the 
presence  of  Rosalind. 

Whatever  title  it  might  be  given  when  it  was  completed  and 
astonished  the  world,  to  him,  he  knew,  it  would  always  be  the 
Rosalind  suite.  It  would  never  have  been  written  if  she  had 
not  been  a member  of  their  joyous  band — of  that  he  was  cer- 
tain, though  he  was  wholly  unable  to  define  her  influence  on  it 
in  terms  of  thought  * the  quality  of  her  presence  was  too 
subtle  for  any  form  of  expression  but  that  of  music  ; he  did 
not  know  what  it  was  that  he  wanted  to  say  about  her  ; he 
only  knew  that  when  the  music  was  written  it  expressed 
exactly  the  sensations  that  were  beyond  his  power  of  thinking. 
Painting,  according  to  Noel's  theory,  was  also  a medium  for 
the  expression  of  the  unthinkable.  ‘ You  look  at  a tree,'  he 
said,  ‘ and  you  don't  say  “ it 's  green,  it 's  an  oak,  it 's  sixty 
yards  by  thirty  and  has  raw  umber  shadows  and  golden  lights," 
but  you  feel  a sort  of  heaving  in  your  chest,  as  if  the  tree  was 
inside  you  and  growing  fast,  and  you  utter  a wild  cry  and  splash 
oceans  of  paint  on  a canvas.  If  you  're  a real  painter,  that  is  i 
if  you  're  a professor  you  measure  the  tree  and  think  out  your 
picture  with  the  artful  aid  of  Euclid  and  Algebra,  and  off  it 
goes  in  a month  to  be  hung  on  the  line  at  the  Royal  Academy/ 

But  though  Denis  was  incapable  of  expressing  his  apprecia- 
tion of  Rosalind  in  any  form  but  that  of  his  own  particular  art, 
it  was  quite  obvious  that  he  found  an  immense  delight  in  the 
intimacy  that  was  made  possible  by  their  life  in  the  forest. 
He  thought  of  her — or  of  his  music,  it  was  the  same  thing — 
every  morning  when  he  awoke ; and  looked  forward  to  the 
moment  when  he  would  go  downstairs  to  find  her  sitting  with 
the  others  in  the  quaint  little  room  that  was  full  of  wildflowers. 
She  dressed  in  white  always  whilst  they  inhabited  the  forest, 
and  he  thought  that  the  contrast  between  her  frock  and  her 
dark  head  completed  the  most  beautiful  vision  that  life  had  as 
yet  vouchsafed  to  his  eyes.  The  French  painters  thought 

Y 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


338 

much  the  same,  and  confided  their  theories  to  him  with  many 
expressive  gestures.  One  of  them,  a giant  with  a square  black 
beard  which  made  him  resemble  a priest  of  Astarte,  and  a 
voice  like  the  music  of  viols  heard  at  sunset,  would  sit  at  her 
feet  when  they  assembled  in  the  garden  after  dinner  and  read 
lovely  songs  of  old  French  poets — Charles  d’Orleans  and 
Villon,  Ronsard  and  Du  Bellay — by  the  light  of  a Japanese 
lantern,  pausing  at  intervals  to  gaze  at  her  with  deep,  ex- 
pressive eyes  which  he  fondly  imagined  to  be  invisible  to  the 
rest  of  the  company.  In  after  years,  whenever  Denis  read  the 
great  ballad  of  the  dead  ladies  of  old,  or  the  Quand  vous  serez 
bien  vieille,  or  the  sonnet-sequence  in  which  the  name  of  Rome 
reverberates  continually  like  a tremendous  and. tragic  bass, 
the  whole  scene  would  rise  before  him — the  wild  garden,  with  a 
faint  wind  sighing  in  the  leaves,  the  gleam  of  a tiny  fountain, 
the  dark  face  of  the  reader  and  the  shadowy  circle  of  his 
audience,  and  Rosalind  sitting  motionless,  intent  on  the  beauti- 
ful words,  leaning  slightly  forward  and  staring  at  the  soft  light 
of  the  lantern.  Afterwards,  Denis  would  be  sent  to  the  salon , 
when  he  played  the  piano  by  the  open  windows,  and  Noel 
would  sing  Schumann  and  Schubert. 

It  was  an  incomparable  holiday,  but  the  last  fortnight  was 
a miserable  anticlimax,  for  Rosalind  and  Miss  Amory  were 
obliged  to  depart  before  the  others,  having  promised  to  pay  a 
visit  in  Surrey.  When  they  had  gone  the  world  was  grey  to 
Denis  ; but  he  worked  hard  at  the  orchestral  suite,  and  went 
for  long  walks  with  the  French  painter  who  had  expressive 
eyes.  The  poor  fellow  could  talk  of  no  one  but  Rosalind,  and 
bewailed  his  own  ill  luck.  ‘ Whenever  I wished  to  tell  her  of 
my  passion,'  he  lamented,  ‘ she  smiled  adorably,  in  that  grave 
manner  of  hers,  and  began  to  tell  me  stories  of  the  youth  of  her 
aunt  in  an  English  rectory,  or  something  equally  absurd.  She 
knew  the  exact  instant  when  I was  about  to  begin,  and  headed 
me  off  as  a shepherd  turns  a sheep  from  the  wrong  path.  But 
I forgive  her  ; I forgive  everything.  In  spite  of  her  aunt  and 
the  rectory,  she  is  adorable,  absolutely  adorable.’ 

Noel  had  begun  at  least  a dozen  landscapes,  and  decided  to 
remain  in  the  Forest  until  the  fine  weather  broke  up,  so  Denis 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


339 


returned  to  London  alone.  Noel  tried  to  persuade  him  to  take 
the  key  of  the  studio,  but  he  preferred  to  work  only  in  his  own 
room.  Chelsea  seemed  rather  desolate  for  the  first  few  days, 
but  he  soon  began  to  toil  at  the  suite  with  immense  energy, 
being  anxious  to  accomplish  as  much  as  possible  before  his 
return  to  Mr.  Wallaby's  manuscripts.  He  saw  no  one  ; 
Rosalind  and  Miss  Amory  were  still  at  Haslemere,  little 
Sandys  was  in  New  York,  and  Wilson,  who  had  announced  his 
intention  of  going  to  Thibet,  was  probably  at  Bournemouth  or 
Ramsgate.  He  was  absolutely  alone  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life,  and  found  that  the  experience,  when  tempered  with  the 
companionship  of  hard  work,  was  for  a while  sufficiently 
amusing.  He  toiled  from  nine  in  the  morning  until  five  in  the 
afternoon,  explored  London  in  the  evening,  consumed  a very 
modest  apology  for  dinner  in  his  room,  and  read  Rossetti  and 
smoked  pipes  until  midnight. 

After  a week  or  two  of  this  existence,  however,  he  began  to 
find  that  London,  which  had  seemed  so  small  and  homelike 
when  Noel  was  with  him  and  Rosalind  was  at  Hampstead, 
became  immensely  expanded,  so  that  when  he  sat  alone  in  his 
silent  room  at  night  the  thought  of  all  the  teeming,  indifferent 
circles  of  life  that  hemmed  him  in  for  miles  around  became 
subtly  depressing.  He  found  that  he  was  beginning  to  talk  to 
himself,  and  that  he  awoke  in  the  morning  with  a queer 
reluctance  to  face  the  acts  of  dressing  and  of  sitting  down  to 
work  ; all  enthusiasm  seemed  to  leave  him  suddenly  • he 
regarded  the  manuscript  of  his  suite  with  cold  indifference, 
and  was  astonished  to  think  that  only  a few  weeks  earlier  he 
could  not  sleep  unless  it  lay  close  to  his  bedside,  so  that  he 
might  feast  his  eyes  on  it  as  soon  as  he  awoke.  He  felt  flabby, 
and  when  he  walked  his  feet  were  shod  with  lead.  Faces  in 
the  street,  formerly  a pageant  of  inexhaustible  interest,  seemed 
to  him  sordid  and  sinister  and  quite  unworthy  of  his  regard  ; 
Chelsea  was  a dingy  network  of  slums,  after  all,  and  even  the 
Embankment  was  depressing  now  that  the  trees  were  shedding 
their  shrivelled  leaves.  But  in  spite  of  a growing  conviction 
that  life,  when  you  were  alone,  was  not  worth  the  living,  he 
managed  to  work  assiduously  at  the  suite,  and  had  finished 


340 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


more  than  half  of  it  a week  before  the  date  of  his  return  to  the 
fold  of  Mr.  Wallaby.  He  began  to  anticipate  that  event 
almost  with  pleasure  ; though  the  work  was  dreary,  at  any 
rate  he  would  be  able  to  speak  to  some  one  there.  It  was  high 
time,  too,  for  another  reason,  that  he  should  return  ; he  had 
spent  all  his  money  on  the  French  holiday,  and  owed  his 
landlord  several  weeks'  rent.  He  decided  to  demand  an 
advance  on  the  royalties  of  his  songs  as  soon  as  he  returned 
to  the  publishing-house. 

He  went  to  Hampstead  late  in  one  of  the  last  afternoons  of 
September,  only  to  find  that  Marie  had  no  idea  when  Rosalind 
and  Miss  Amory  would  return.  A long  conversation  with  that 
excellent  Frenchwoman  and  Narcisse  raised  his  drooping 
spirits,  but  they  collapsed  again  when,  on  reaching  his  room, 
he  found  a letter  from  Barbizon  announcing  that  Noel  had  set 
off  on  a walking-tour  with  the  painter  who  had  expressive  eyes ; 
that  his  destinations  were  vague,  and  the  date  of  his  return  to 
England  uncertain.  The  Duroy  family,  Denis  thought,  really 
raised  irresponsibility  to  the  height  of  a fine  art.  He  also 
found  a letter  from  Gabriel — the  usual  letter,  full  of  covert 
reproaches  and  exhortations  to  return  to  the  Red  House. 
Gabriel  seemed  to  think  that  Dr.  Yorke  had  come  to  London 
for  the  purpose  of  seeing  Denis,  and  had  been  bitterly  dis- 
appointed to  find  that  he  had  departed.  This  idea  both 
startled  and  irritated  the  boy  ; if  his  father  really  had  come  to 
the  studio,  why  had  he  allowed  two  whole  days  to  elapse 
between  his  arrival  in  London  and  the  time  of  that  visit  ? But 
probably  Gabriel  was  mistaken — or  misinformed.  If  it  were 
true,  it  was  a nuisance  ; his  father  would  never  give  him  credit 
for  having  postponed  a journey  across  the  Channel  with  Noel 
and  Rosalind  merely  on  the  chance  of  his  visit.  Not  that  he 
cared,  of  course,  about  anything  his  father  thought,  but  when 
you  made  sacrifices  of  that  kind  you  liked  them  to  be  known. 
Perhaps  it  was  for  this  selfish  reason  that  he  felt,  for  the  first 
time  after  many  years,  a sudden  impulse  to  write  to  his 
father  ; perhaps  it  was  merely  because  he  was  lonely.  At  any 
rate,  he  resisted  the  impulse.  ‘ It ’s  no  good  explaining  ■ he 
won’t  believe  me.’  It  was  the  old  familiar  phrase  of  his  boy- 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


341 


hood.  But  though  he  decided  quite  cheerfully  not  to  write, 
he  was  still  troubled  by  the  memory  of  the  extraordinary 
impulse  which  had  seized  him  on  the  day  before  he  went  to 
France.  That  was  inexplicable  ; it  was  like  finding  a ghost 
in  some  familiar  place  ; it  made  you  think  that  you  possessed, 
so  to  speak,  another  self  within  yourself.  He  had  had  im- 
pressions of  the  same  kind  when  he  had  been  in  the  fever  of 
composition,  but  he  had  thought  that  such  startling  experi- 
ences were  limited  within  the  domain  of  art  and  never  occurred 
in  actual  life.  Yes,  the  memory  of  that  thrilling  moment 
haunted  him  abominably,  and  mingled  with  it,  oddly  enough, 
was  a vision  of  his  father's  face  when  he  found  the  studio 
deserted.  Would  Dr.  Yorke  think  that  he  was  dead  ? That 
was  absurd,  of  course  ; if  his  father  had  been  alarmed,  Gabriel 
would  have  mentioned  it  in  his  letter  ; Gabriel  wouldn't  miss  a 
chance  of  that  kind. 

His  letters  invariably  irritated  Denis,  and  this  particular 
one  actually  spoilt  his  work.  He  tore  up  sheet  after  sheet  of 
manuscript,  and  when  he  tried  to  calm  his  fevered  soul  by 
thinking  of  Rosalind,  the  face  of  his  father  obtruded  itself 
on  his  mental  vision,  so  that  the  music  ought  to  have  been 
rechristened  the  Wilmot  Yorke  suite,  he  thought,  with  bitter 
humour.  He  struggled  desperately  with  it  for  two  or  three 
days,  and  then,  one  afternoon,  when  life  seemed  to  have 
become  for  ever  untunable,  he  flung  the  manuscript  into  a 
drawer,  closed  the  piano  with  a bang,  and  prepared  to  go  out 
and  conquer  his  depression  with  a long  walk.  As  he  went 
downstairs  his  landlord  met  him  with  a request  that  his  rent 
might  be  paid.  Denis  had  always  disliked  him — he  had  furtive 
eyes  and  an  oily  smoothness  of  manner — and  at  that  moment 
he  thought  him  extremely  odious.  He  mentioned  the  date 
of  his  return  to  Wallaby's,  and  the  landlord  smiled  and  bowed 
obsequiously.  ‘ Of  course  I know  a gentleman  when  I see 
one,'  Denis  heard  him  remark  as  he  closed  the  door. 

This  paltry  episode  did  not  tend  to  raise  his  spirits,  and 
made  him  realise  his  loneliness  more  sharply.  If  he  had  not 
been  in  regular  employment,  and  if  he  had  not  written  songs 
which  had  been  highly  successful,  his  position  would  certainly 


342 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


have  been  awkward  ; he  would  have  been  quite  penniless,  and 
though  he  had  many  acquaintances  in  London,  he  could  think 
of  no  one  to  whom  he  would  have  had  the  courage  to  apply  for 
a loan.  The  majority  of  them  were  young  artists,  and  there- 
fore poor,  and  he  would  as  soon  have  dreamed  of  approaching 
them  with  so  base  an  intention  as  of  writing  to  his  father  for 
money.  Decidedly,  the  firm  of  Wallaby  was  an  admirable 
institution. 

He  walked  slowly  eastward,  feeling  listless  and  ill,  as  was 
usual  with  him  when  he  had  struggled  unsuccessfully  with  an 
obstinate  piece  of  work.  He  took  no  interest  in  the  faces 
of  the  passers-by  ; they  irritated  his  nerves,  these  innumerable 
masks  that  flashed  past  him  ; he  yearned  for  solitude  and 
silence,  and  his  head  ached  with  the  noise  of  the  streets. 
People  seemed  to  go  out  of  their  way  in  order  to  collide  with 
him,  and  to  look  at  him  with  suspicious  or  sneering  eyes. 
London  revealed  herself  to  him  in  quite  a new  aspect,  and  he 
was  almost  frightened  by  it.  When  he  reached  Piccadilly  he 
felt  half  dead  with  fatigue  and  horribly  thirsty.  He  hesitated 
outside  a tea-shop  for  some  moments,  and  then  he  re- 
membered that  he  only  possessed  some  odd  shillings  on  which 
he  had  to  support  life  for  three  more  days.  He  walked  slowly 
on,  wondering  why  he  had  come  out  at  all. 

A name  on  a passing  omnibus  reminded  him  that  there  was, 
at  any  rate,  one  place  in  London  where  you  could  be  certain 
of  finding  peace  and  coolness,  silence  and  calm  light.  He 
mounted  on  the  top  of  the  vehicle,  and  descended  where  the 
river  of  city  traffic  is  divided  in  two  streams  by  the  giant 
structure  of  St.  Paul’s.  The  interior  of  the  great  church 
always  seemed  to  him  the  most  impressive  symbol  of  London’s 
vastness  and  grandeur ; he  was  never  tired  of  gazing  up  into 
the  dome,  which  always  seemed  filled  with  strange  yellow 
light,  and  of  wandering  among  the  dusky  recesses  of  the  aisles, 
where  white  memorials  gleamed  palely,  with  a kind  of  ghostly 
phosphorescence,  against  the  dead  grey  of  the  walls.  He 
could  never  properly  realise  that  the  immense  building  was  a 
cathedral,  a place  of  worship  and  prayer  ; it  seemed  to  him 
rather  a temple,  which,  like  the  temples  of  Greece,  was  the 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


343 


abiding  home  of  a peculiar  divinity  ; he  felt  that  here  was  the 
shrine  inhabited  by  the  inmost  spirit  of  the  mighty  place, — 
the  genius  that  controlled  and  was  one  with  the  toiling,  loafing, 
gleaming,  grimy,  romantic,  bestial  and  beautiful  city. 

He  sat  down  about  halfway  up  the  nave.  The  sunset  fires 
were  burning  through  the  western  windows  of  the  dome,  but 
in  the  great  hollow  beneath  it  the  twilight  was  already  sombre, 
and  the  choir  was  thronged  with  dark  shadows.  The  sound 
of  distant  footfalls  only  made  the  silence  of  those  lofty  spaces 
between  the  huge  capitals  more  impressive  ; a noise  rose, 
reverberated  for  several  moments,  and  then  died  away  feebly, 
drowned  in  that  deep,  still  ocean  of  aerial  calm.  The  roar  of 
London  surged  in  vain  against  those  mighty  walls  ; only  at 
intervals  you  might  hear  it  faintly  ; a strange,  soft  monotone, 
like  the  voice  of  a child  singing  to  itself. 

Peace  descended  on  him  as  he  sat  there  ; his  troubles  had 
departed  with  the  noise  of  the  streets,  and  the  cool  twilight 
of  the  nave  brought  relief  to  his  aching  head  and  tired  limbs. 
The  church  was  almost  empty  ; some  belated  sightseers  were 
prowling  about  the  aisles,  and  there  were  a few  figures  dotted 
here  and  there  among  the  seats.  The  sunset  fires  faded 
gradually  in  the  dome,  and  beyond  the  great  rows  of  columns 
the  shadows  became  intense.  Still  he  lingered,  dreading  the 
moment  when  he  would  be  obliged  to  re-enter  the  fierce  world 
that  ravened  outside  this  sanctuary  of  quiet ; wishing  he 
might  stay  there  until  dawn  stained  the  high  windows  with 
rosy  light.  At  last,  very  reluctantly,  he  decided  to  go. 

At  that  moment  his  glance  happened  to  rest  on  two  figures 
which  were  sitting  near  a pillar  a few  yards  to  his  right.  They 
belonged  to  a man  and  a woman  who  were  apparently  engaged 
in  earnest,  whispered  conversation.  Denis  stared  at  them 
fixedly,  wondering  if  the  twilight  was  playing  him  a trick  ; 
then  he  realised  that  he  was  not  mistaken  ; the  woman  was 
Rosalind,  and  the  man — of  all  improbable  people — Grimshaw. 

He  had  risen  from  his  seat,  but  when  he  recognised  them  he 
sat  down  again.  So  she  had  returned  ! — suddenly,  he  sup- 
posed, in  the  manner  of  a Duroy,  taking  Marie  as  much  by 
surprise  as  was  possible.  The  heavy  sense  of  loneliness  left 


344 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


him  in  a moment,  London  had  become  itself  again,  life  re- 
assumed its  discarded  raiment  of  joy.  He  sat  there  for  a little 
while,  and  then  he  rose  and  began  to  make  his  way  quietly 
towards  them. 

They  were  completely  absorbed  in  their  conversation,  and 
did  not  observe  his  approach.  When  he  was  close  to  them  he 
halted,  expecting  them  to  turn  and  to  recognise  him,  but  they 
remained  completely  unconscious  of  his  proximity.  Grimshaw 
was  leaning  towards  Rosalind,  and  speaking  with  vehemence 
in  a low  voice,  and  she  was  staring  straight  in  front  of  her  with 
very  grave  eyes.  In  the  dusk  her  face  was  like  a white  flower.  A 
moment  later  Grimshaw  ceased  speaking,  and  she  turned  her 
face  slowly  towards  him.  Denis  was  sufficiently  near  them  to 
see  every  detail  of  her  expression.  She  smiled,  and  said  a few 
words  in  a whisper.  Then,  to  his  intense  amazement,  Grim- 
shaw took  her  hand  and  raised  it  to  his  lips.  He  performed 
this  action  so  swiftly  and  silently  that  if  Denis  had  looked 
away  for  the  fraction  of  a second  he  would  not  have  witnessed 
it.  The  boy  stared  at  Rosalind  and  saw  that  she  was  still 
smiling,  though  very  sadly.  He  was  almost  certain  that  there 
were  tears  in  her  eyes. 

Very  quietly  he  withdrew,  his  soul  sick  with  frantic  terror 
lest  they  should  see  him.  What  did  it  mean  ? Had  it  really 
happened,  or  was  it  not  rather  an  evil  dream  that  had  no 
meaning,  a jest  played  by  the  twilight  with  his  disordered 
nerves  ? He  glanced  back  over  his  shoulder  ; they  were  still 
sitting  there,  in  the  same  attitude.  It  was  no  dream,  it  was 
horrible  reality ; one  couldn't  mistake  any  one  else  for 
Rosalind.  He  hurried  towards  the  porch,  conscious  of 
nothing  but  a blind  desire  to  escape,  to  rush  away — under  the 
omnibuses,  into  the  river — anywhere,  so  that  he  might  forget 
what  he  had  seen,  or  dupe  himself  into  believing  that  it  had 
not  happened. 

As  he  passed  the  porch,  the  roar  of  London  smote  his  ears 
like  an  outburst  of  malicious  laughter.  He  walked  blindly 
down  Ludgate  Hill,  feeling  now  that  every  one  whom  he  met 
was  staring  at  him  with  mocking  eyes.  The  pavement  seemed 
to  rise  and  to  strike  the  soles  of  his  feet ; his  head  throbbed 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


345 


violently.  Gradually,  however,  his  senses  were  in  some  degree 
restored  by  the  act  of  walking,  and  he  was  able  to  review  the 
scene  that  he  had  witnessed  more  clearly,  though  not  more 
dispassionately.  He  knew  then  that  it  was  not  Grimshaw's 
action  which  troubled  him  so  intensely ; he  could  have 
ignored  it,  though  it  would  have  irritated  him  for  a moment  ; 
but  he  could  not  ignore  the  expression  of  Rosalind’s  face.  It 
was  one  that  he  had  never  seen  before ; it  was  one — as  he 
realised  with  a thrill  of  amazement  which  left  him  breathless — 
it  was  the  very  expression  that  he  had  always,  without  being 
completely  conscious  of  the  yearning,  desired  to  see.  But  he 
had  never  desired  to  see  it  responsive  to  Grimshaw.  Grim- 
shaw  ! the  brute,  the  boor,  the  married  man  who  dared  to ! 

This  staggering  item  of  self-revelation  brought  him  no 
comfort.  He  only  knew,  as  he  plodded  through  the  crowded 
streets,  that  he  was  lonelier  than  ever,  and  miserable — more 
miserable  than  he  had  ever  been  in  his  life. 


346 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


XXXV 

THE  days  that  followed  the  unfortunate  visit  to  St. 

Paul's  formed  an  epoch  of  the  blackest  gloom  for 
Denis.  He  buried  himself  in  Chelsea,  and  wrestled  with  the 
second  part  of  his  suite,  which  was  more  recalcitrant  than  ever. 
More  than  once  he  was  tempted  to  tear  up  the  whole  manu- 
script ; it  seemed  to  him  now  anaemic,  ugly,  completely 
deficient  in  depth  and  power,  and  he  marvelled  at  the  blind 
self-conceit  which  had  lured  him  into  attempting  to  work  in  a 
form  so  far  beyond  his  natural  scope.  The  fact  that  Sandys 
had  admired  it  gave  him  no  comfort ; it  proved  nothing 
except  that  Sandys  was  either  short-sighted  or  addicted  to 
base  flattery.  However,  it  served  to  wile  away  the  long  hours, 
and  to  keep  him  from  thinking.  The  gloom  of  his  soul  was 
accompanied  by  a vague  sensation  of  bodily  sickness  ; he  felt 
tired  even  in  the  morning,  suffered  from  sudden  attacks  of 
shivering,  and  had  an  incessant  headache.  An  unhealthy 
drowsiness  oppressed  him  whilst  he  worked ; he  would  fall 
into  a brief,  uneasy  slumber,  and  wake  with  a start  to  find  his 
limbs  damp  with  cold  perspiration. 

He  did  not  go  to  Hampstead,  and  he  received  no  letter  from 
Rosalind  inviting  him  to  do  so.  This,  he  reflected  bitterly, 
was  only  natural ; of  course  she  would  not  want  to  see  him 
now.  Probably  that  beast  was  there  all  day  long,  whispering 
to  her,  whilst  she  looked  at  him  with  her  eyes  shining  as  they 
had  shone  in  St.  Paul's.  He  would  never  go  there  any  more. 
He  met  the  abominable  Grimshaw  in  Tite  Street,  and  was 
hardly  capable  of  responding  to  his  salutation.  Grimshaw, 
the  beast,  was  quite  genial — and  no  wonder  ! — and  looked 
extremely  ill.  Denis  noticed  that  he  walked  with  unequal 
steps,  and  stammered  slightly  when  he  spoke.  The  brute  was 
half  .intoxicated,  he  supposed,  and  his  soul  was  sick  with  a 
violent  disgust.  So  this  was  the  creature  that  she  loved  ! 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


347 


Grimshaw  spoke  of  her — called  her  Rosalind,  hoped  she  would 
soon  return  to  London.  Denis  muttered  an  incomprehensible 
excuse  and  fled  from  him.  He  felt  that  if  he  looked  any  longer 
at  that  coarse,  lined  face  with  its  twisted  lips  and  baggy  eye- 
lids, he  should  break  out  into  appalling  language. 

When  he  returned  to  Wallaby's  he  was  informed  that  the 
head  of  the  firm  wished  to  see  him.  He  found  Mr.  Wallaby 
in  his  private  office  • the  great  man  greeted  him  warmly,  and 
was  deeply  concerned  to  find  him  looking  unwell.  Mr. 
Wallaby  himself  was  the  picture  of  health  and  prosperity,  and 
had  grown  stouter  during  his  holiday,  which  he  had  spent  at 
Ostend.  ‘ Eager  for  work,  eh  ? ' he  cried  to  Denis  ; ‘ thirsting 
for  the  slaughter  of  the  innocents  ? Well,  well,  holidays  must 
end,  and  it 's  not  altogether  unpleasant  to  get  back  into 
harness.'  He  stroked  the  silk  facings  of  his  frock-coat. 
‘ You  find  me,  my  dear  young  friend,'  he  continued,  ‘ sur- 
rounded by  difficulties  and  complications,  and  I 'm  afraid — 
don't  mind  my  saying  it — that  you  are  in  some  degree  the 
culprit.  Genius  is  an  expensive  luxury  for  a poor  publisher, 
you  know  ! ' And  he  patted  Denis's  shoulder  and  laughed 
pleasantly. 

Denis  misunderstood  him,  and  murmured  something  about 
the  songs  which  he  had  sent  from  France.  Mr.  Wallaby 
explained.  The  songs  were  everything  that  could  be  desired  ; 
Heaven  forbid  that  he  should  cavil  at  them,  though  perhaps 
the  accompaniments  were  a little  startling  to  the  ordinary 
person.  But  of  course  the  ordinary  person  was  made  to  be 
startled.  His  grievance  lay  in  quite  another  direction  ; some 
music  which  Denis  had  recommended  urgently  for  publication 
had  proved  a disastrous  failure  ; not  a copy  had  been  sold,  and 
the  critics  had  ignored  it  completely.  A serious  business  this, 
for  the  cost  of  production  had  been  enormous  ; Wallaby  and 
Company  did  that  kind  of  thing  on  the  grand  scale.  Of  course  it 
was  partly  the  fault  of  Sandys  ; Sandys  was  very  unsatisfac- 
tory, and  had  made  a muddle  of  things  in  America.  A note  of 
asperity  was  audible  in  Mr.  Wallaby's  voice  when  he  spoke  of 
the  unfortunate  Sandys,  and  for  a moment  he  ceased  to  look 
genial.  But  very  soon  his  brow  cleared.  ‘ Well,  well ! We 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


348 

will  say  no  more  about  it/  he  concluded.  ‘ Only  this  must 
be  a lesson  to  you — a warning.  Of  course  we  can't  expect  you 
to  become  experienced  in  a few  months.  And  now — what 
have  you  brought  me  ? What  sweet  songs  were  inspired  by 
Versailles  ? Fontainebleau,  was  it  ? Ah  yes,  I remember. 
You  have  returned  bringing  your  sheaves  with  you,  I hope, 
and  didn’t  allow  the  Customs  to  confiscate  them.  The  others 
are  going  quite  well — slowly,  perhaps,  but  quite  well.  I want 
some  more.' 

‘ I ’m  afraid  that  I haven’t  done  any  songs  lately/  said 
Denis.  ‘ The  fact  is,  I began  rather  a big  thing,  a suite  for 
orchestra,  and  it  has  taken  up  every  minute  of  my  time.’ 
'Ha!’  remarked  Mr.  Wallaby.  'A  suite  for  * orchestra. 
Very  good.  Very  good  indeed.  We  proceed  to  great  works. 
We  are  ambitious.  But  we  mustn’t  quite  forget  our  poor 
publisher,  and  we  must  remember  that  the  public  has  no 
intense  craving  for  orchestral  suites ; it  prefers,’  added  Mr. 
Wallaby  with  tremendous  humour,  ‘ it  prefers  a less  solid  type 
of  confectionery.  Very  nice  ! But  you  mustn’t  be  a traitor  to 
your  own  particular  line.  I ’ve  managed  to  get  you  known  as 
a writer  of  songs,  and  you  mustn’t  betray  me.  Now  don’t  you 
think  you  could  let  me  have  a little  set  of  six  songs  in  about  a 
fortnight  ? Slight  things,  you  know,  the  kind  you  could  dash 
off  between  tea  and  dinner.  Think  it  over,  my  young  friend, 
think  it  over.  It  ’ll  be  worth  your  while.’ 

Though  he  spoke  so  kindly,  there  was  a hint  of  command  in 
his  tone  that  irritated  the  boy’s  overstrained  nerves.  Denis 
resolved  to  intimate  to  Mr.  Wallaby  that  no  one  was  permitted 
to  interfere  with  his  own  particular  work,  that  he  would 
compose  what  he  liked  when  he  liked. 

‘ I ’m  afraid,’  he  said,  ‘ it ’s  quite  possible  that  I shall  never 
do  any  more  songs  ; I want  to  get  further  on.  At  any  rate,  I 
feel  that  I can’t  attempt  anything  of  the  kind  until  I have 
finished  this  suite,  and  it  may  take  me  six  months.’ 

Mr.  Wallaby  was  silent  for  a moment. 

' Oh,  well,  you  know  best,  of  course,’  he  said,  but  he  did  not 
smile,  and  spoke  less  suavely  than  usual.  ‘ One  mustn’t 
interfere  with  genius.  Of  course  there ’s  money  in  the  songs, 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


349 


but  quite  properly  you  don’t  care  about  that  side  of  the 
question.’  He  raised  his  eyebrows  and  looked  at  Denis,  who 
remained  silent.  ‘ Now,  if  you  were  not  receiving  a regular 
salary,’  said  Mr.  Wallaby  very  gently,  ‘ you  would  be  obliged 
to  write  songs,  wouldn’t  you  ? ’ Denis  did  not  appreciate  the 
drift  of  this  question,  and  replied  that  he  supposed  in  those 
circumstances  pot-boiling  would  be  inevitable.  Mr.  Wallaby 
wagged  his  head  comically.  ‘ Ah  ! these  artists,  these  artists  ! ’ 
he  groaned.  But  his  good-humour,  which  had  been  overcast 
for  a moment,  had  apparently  returned.  They  talked  for 
some  time  about  the  prospects  of  the  coming  musical  season, 
and  then  Denis  went  to  his  manuscripts,  feeling  that,  after  all, 
Mr.  Wallaby  had  submitted  with  a very  good  grace  to  his 
intimation  that  he  would  do  his  own  work  in  his  own  way. 

The  displeasing  vision  of  his  landlord,  who,  obsequious  yet 
expectant,  hovered  about  the  passage  as  he  went  upstairs  to 
his  room,  reminded  him  that  he  had  omitted  to  ask  Mr. 
Wallaby  for  an  advance  on  royalties.  It  was  Friday  evening, 
and  since  he  was  not  due  to  attend  at  the  publisher’s  until 
Monday,  he  decided  to  write  a letter  to  the  firm.  This  docu- 
ment, he  felt  when  he  had  finished  it,  struck  the  right  note 
between  the  authoritative  bass  of  a demand  and  the  pleading 
treble  of  a request,  and  he  debated  for  a moment  whether  he 
ought  not  to  delete  the  sentence  in  which  he  apologised  for 
giving  trouble.  He  was  well  within  his  rights,  he  knew,  in 
demanding  a share  of  the  money  which  was  already  in  Wallaby 
and  Company’s  pockets.  He  posted  the  letter  and  went  to  bed, 
for  he  was  intensely  tired.  As  he  reascended  the  stairs  the 
landlord  was  still  hovering. 

He  rose  early,  and  worked  at  the  suite  for  the  whole  of 
Saturday,  with  better  results  than  he  had  obtained  for  a 
considerable  time.  In  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  second  part 
was  obviously  developing  into  a complete  antithesis  of  the 
first,  he  felt  that  it  was  good,  though  he  was  conscious  that 
when  he  attempted  to  reach  tragedy  he  succeeded  in  attaining 
a merely  gloomy  effect.  Still,  mere  progression  was  pleasant 
after  so  many  stagnant  days.  Six  o’clock  had  struck  before  he 
ceased  to  work  ; at  last  he  rose  from  the  writing-table,  rubbing 


350 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


his  eyes  and  feeling  dizzy.  He  was  hungry  for  fresh  air,  but 
the  thought  of  his  landlord  made  him  reluctant  to  go  out.  He 
decided  to  wait  until  the  evening  post  brought  him  a cheque 
from  Wallaby.  In  his  letter  he  had  particularly  requested 
that  it  should  be  sent  off  at  once. 

He  sat  down  on  his  bed — he  had  only  one  room — feeling 
ill  and  dejected.  The  year  of  happiness  and  strenuous  work 
which  he  had  anticipated  so  keenly  during  his  holiday  had  not 
begun  auspiciously  ; he  felt  as  if  all  reason  for  living  had  gone 
— all  his  enthusiasm,  his  ability,  and  his  pleasure  in  friendship  ; 
he  seemed  a dim  phantom  of  his  former  self.  When  he  looked 
at  his  image  in  the  mirror  he  saw  a tired  creature  with  a very 
white  face  and  listless  eyes  that  were  outlined  with  black 
circles,  and  his  limbs  felt  horribly  heavy.  He  was  ill,  that  was 
evident ; but  he  did  not  care.  Nothing  mattered  now.  He 
didn’t  even  want  to  live. 

The  daylight  had  almost  faded  when  a sharp  double  knock 
on  the  street  door  told  him  that  the  postman  had  arrived.  A 
few  minutes  later  the  frowsy  maid  brought  him  his  letters  in 
her  grimy  hand, — a hand  which  left  so  many  imprints  on  the 
walls  and  doors  that  the  police  could  have  identified  her 
without  difficulty  if  her  poor  overworked,  ill-nourished  soul 
had  been  capable  of  conceiving  and  executing  a crime.  There 
were  two  letters  for  Denis,  but  neither  of  them  bore  Rosalind’s 
handwriting  on  the  envelope.  Both  came  from  the  house  of 
Wallaby,  which  was  rather  remarkable,  thought  Denis.  He 
opened  one  of  them  and  read  the  following  words  : — 


Fol.  99.  Oct . 3rd , 1897.  Telegra?ns — ‘Melpomene,  London/ 

‘ Handel  House, 

New  Wigmore  St.,  W. 

‘ Dear  Sir, — We  regret  to  have  to  inform  you  that  it  is  our 
invariable  custom  to  pay  royalties  on  work  published  by  us 
only  on  the  dates  mentioned  in  our  form  of  agreement,  i.e. 
half-yearly,  on  the  21st  of  June  and  the  21st  of  December. 
Any  departure  from  this  rule  has  been  found  to  produce  great 
inconvenience  in  our  bookkeeping  department. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND  351 

‘ Apologising  for  being  unable  to  oblige  you  in  this  matter, — 
We  are,  Sir,  your  obedient  servants, 

Wallaby  & Co. 
per  A.  J.  K.  S/ 

He  read  this  agreeable  communication  twice,  and  then 
opened  the  second  envelope,  which  contained  a typewritten 
letter  from  Mr.  Wallaby  himself. 

‘ Dear  Mr.  Yorke  ’ — (it  ran), — ‘ Owing  to  the  total  failure 
of  several  of  our  autumn  ventures  we  find  ourselves  in  the 
unfortunate  position  of  having  to  seriously  face  the  question  of 
retrenchment  in  the  minor  branches  of  our  business.  Under 
these  circumstances  I am,  much  against  my  will,  obliged  to 
inform  you  that  our  arrangement  with  you  as  regards  reading 
MSS.  for  us  must  terminate  for  the  present,  though  I dare  say 
that  you  will  not  be  altogether  sorry  to  at  length  have  your 
time  entirely  free  for  original  work.  We  had  no  written  agree- 
ment with  you  in  regard  to  the  reading,  but  to  obviate  any 
inconvenience  which  this  sudden  decision  on  the  part  of  my 
firm  may  chance  to  cause  you,  I am  enclosing  a cheque  for  six 
pounds  in  payment  of  your  services  for  the  last  week  and  as 
salary  for  a fortnight  in  lieu  of  notice.  Will  you  kindly 
acknowledge  receipt  of  this  amount  on  the  enclosed  form  ? 

‘ We  are  anxious  not  to  lose  touch  with  you,  and  shall  be 
glad  to  consider  from  time  to  time  any  work  that  you  care  to 
submit  for  our  inspection. — Believe  me,  yours  very  sincerely, 

James  Wallaby 

‘ PS. — Mr.  Sandys  will  not  return  to  us  after  he  has  com- 
pleted his  business  in  America,  so  that  you  are  not  the  only 
victim  of  these  necessary  changes  in  our  staff.’ 

Denis  replaced  the  letters  in  their  respective  envelopes, 
went  to  the  window,  and  stared  thoughtfully  at  the  mist  which 
rose  from  the  river.  Mr.  Wallaby  had  struck  neatly  and 
swiftly,  had  put  the  screw  on,  as  Noel  would  say  ; but  if  he 
imagined  that  his  disgusting  and  treacherous  methods  would 
force  his  dear  young  friend  to  cringe  to  him  and  to  turn  out 


352 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


songs  as  fast  as  possible,  he  was  sadly  mistaken.  His  scheme 
— the  deeply  laid  plot  which  little  Sandys  had  suspected — was 
now  completely  exposed  ; he  had  known,  of  course,  that  as 
a reader  Denis  would  be  worse  than  useless,  but  he  had  thought 
it  worth  his  while  to  pay  him  a weekly  salary  which  was  really 
a retaining  fee  that  implied  a claim  on  all  his  work,  and 
placed  him  under  the  obligation  of  producing  the  kind  of  music 
that  would  prove  remunerative.  Denis  felt  no  particular 
animosity  towards  Mr.  Wallaby  ; these,  he  supposed,  were  the 
usual  methods  of  a shrewd  man  of  business  ; he  only  knew 
that  nothing  in  the  world  would  induce  him  to  write  any  more 
songs — for  the  present,  at  any  rate.  There  was  a tonic  effect 
in  the  shock  that  the  ‘ two-handed  engine  ’ of  Mr.  Wallaby 
had  given  him  ; he  had  always  felt  that  he  had  been  suspi- 
ciously fortunate  at  the  outset  of  his  career,  but  now  he  stood 
alone  in  the  precarious  situation  which  seemed  inevitable  in 
the  life  of  all  young  artists  whose  aims  were  lofty.  He  was 
alone  against  the  world,  ‘ and  one  against  the  world  will 
always  win/  He  thought  of  the  old  music-master  at  school ; 
he  had  disobeyed  the  precepts  of  that  ancient  sage  in  allowing 
himself  to  be  caught  by  the  snares  of  Wallaby,  and  the  com- 
plete liberty  that  was  essential  to  the  production  of  monu- 
mental works  had  only  come  to  him  with  this  evening’s  post. 
Life  had  suddenly  declared  war  against  him,  and  his  blood 
thrilled  as  with  the  sound  of  the  trumpets  of  battle.  If  only 
he  were  not  feeling  ill ! If  only  he  had  never  gone  to  St. 
Paul’s  ! 

But  he  felt  better  already,  though  his  hands  were  cold  and 
his  head  was  painfully  hot.  The  sensation  of  weariness  left 
him,  and  was  replaced  by  an  almost  feverish  desire  of  activity, 
a longing  to  grapple  with  the  difficulties  of  this  new  situation 
at  once,  at  that  very  moment.  His  mode  of  existence  during 
the  period  in  which  he  had  received  a salary  from  Mr.  Wallaby 
seemed  to  him  now  wickedly  luxurious  ; in  future,  he  knew, 
he  would  be  compelled  to  practise  the  sternest  frugality,  for 
the  least  extravagance  would  be  a blow  directed  at  his  art. 
And  he  would  have  to  work,  as  Noel  had  said,  like  a dozen 
giants  ; there  would  be  no  more  intervals  of  leisure  when  he 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


353 


didn’t  feel  quite  in  form,  no  more  exploration  of  London  and 
evenings  with  Keats  and  Shelley  ; he  must  concentrate  every 
sense  that  he  possessed  on  music,  and  only  music.  He  did  not 
feel  alarmed  about  his  financial  prospects  ; it  was  probable 
that  by  this  time  he  had  a certain  reputation  as  an  accompanist, 
for  he  had  appeared  frequently  at  Wallaby’s  ballad-concerts, 
and  he  felt  that,  in  spite  of  his  statement  to  the  publisher,  he 
could  finish  the  orchestral  suite  in  a few  weeks. 

He  went  downstairs  and  called  his  landlord,  who  cashed  his 
cheque  and  received  five-sixths  of  its  amount.  The  landlord 
was  mollified,  though  not  therefore  less  offensive.  ‘ Of  course 
this  ain’t  all  you  owe  me,  Mr.  Yorke,  there  being  another 
fortnight’s  board  and  lodging  since  you  came  ’ome.  But  I 
ain’t  one  to  trouble  lodgers  ; live  and  let  live,  I says.  Not 
that  I shouldn’t  be  obliged  if  you  could  make  it  convenient 
to  pay  me  next  week  without  fail.’  Denis  escaped,  feeling 
horrified  at  the  extent  of  his  debt.  When  he  reached  his  room 
he  laid  the  first  part  of  the  suite  on  his  table,  and  read  it 
through  very  carefully  for  three  hours,  rising  occasionally  to 
play  certain  phrases  on  his  piano.  Then  he  wrapped  it  up  in 
several  sheets  of  brown  paper  and  addressed  it  to  a firm  of 
musical  publishers  which  was  not  beloved  by  Mr.  Wallaby, 
enclosing  a letter  in  which  he  gave  an  outline  of  the  second 
part,  and  requested  that  the  publishers  would  let  him  know 
how  much  they  were  prepared  to  offer  for  the  complete  rights 
of  the  work. 

They  did  not  reply  to  his  letter  with  the  promptness  that 
Mr.  Wallaby  had  displayed;  for  a week,  during  which  he 
worked  harder  than  he  had  ever  done  before,  he  was  anxiously 
attentive  for  the  postman’s  knock,  and  lived  on  hope  and  a 
boiled  egg  in  the  evening.  The  hoverings  of  his  landlord, 
which  had  been  merely  dove-like  for  the  few  days  that 
followed  the  receipt  of  Mr.  Wallaby’s  cheque,  assumed  a 
vulturine  aspect,  but  Denis  went  out  so  seldom  that  this 
ominous  change  did  not  trouble  him  greatly.  He  still  felt 
unwell,  and  noticed  that  his  hands  had  grown  decidedly 
thinner,  but  as  long  as  he  was  able  to  continue  his  work,  he 
did  not  care  ; feeling  ill,  after  all,  was  a condition  to  which 
z 


354 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


one  became  accustomed  ; it  was  quite  easy,  he  thought,  to 
resist  it,  to  ignore  it  by  losing  oneself  in  the  excitement  of  vast 
labours.  His  great  object  in  life  was  to  stifle  the  voices  of  the 
gloomy  demons  who  were  always  ready  to  whisper  at  his  ear, 
and  this  he  usually  managed  to  achieve,  for  as  soon  as  he 
ceased  to  work  he  sank  into  the  heavy  sleep  of  utter  ex- 
haustion. 

After  a time  he  became  completely  lost  in  the  labyrinth  of 
toil,  living  entirely  in  the  strangely  strenuous  dreamland  of 
artistic  creation,  and  losing  count  of  external  days  and  hours. 
Often,  when  he  seemed  scarcely  to  have  begun  the  day’s  task, 
he  would  be  startled  to  find  that  the  light  had  faded  from  the 
room,  and  that  his  brain  was  reeling  with  long  hours  of  con- 
centrated effort.  The  suite  developed  amazingly ; it  became 
shapely  and  beautiful,  as  a thing  seen  in  twilight  takes  form 
and  colour  to  the  patient  eye  ; it  was  complete  at  last — com- 
plete in  his  brain,  in  his  soul — the  mere  act  of  writing  it  down 
became  almost  mechanical,  and  he  felt  that  he  could  have 
continued  that  part  of  the  labour  for  the  whole  day  and  night. 
Fortunately  for  his  reason,  however,  his  hand  absolutely 
refused  to  write  anything  legible  after  seven  or  eight  hours  of 
furious  toil,  and  queer  lights  danced  unpleasantly  before  his 
eyes.  He  was  conscious  that  there  was  a perpetual  sound  of 
humming  in  the  room,  as  if  some  ghostly  beehive  were  under- 
neath his  table. 

He  was  well  within  sight  of  the  final  pages  when  a letter 
came  from  the  publishers.  It  was  a printed  form  of  refusal ; 
the  accompanying  manuscript  was  declined  with  thanks,  and 
below  the  print  some  one  had  written  in  pencil,  ‘ This  kind  of 
work  must  be  performed  successfully  in  public  before  we  can 
think  of  producing  it.’ 

Denis  read  the  letter,  flung  it  on  the  floor,  and  plunged  again 
into  the  sea  of  toil.  Such  temporary  inconveniences  mattered 
nothing  now ; he  was  in  the  vortex  of  creation,  and  had  for- 
gotten all  mundane  affairs  ; there  was  only  one  thing  in  the 
world,  and  that  was  to  finish,  to  finish — to  see  the  work  of  his 
soul  complete,  to  feel  that  he  had  realised  a part  at  least  of  the 
fiery  vision  that  obsessed  him  like  a fever.  That  he  had  no 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


355 


tobacco,  that  he  had  hardly  touched  food  for  many  days,  that 
Rosalind  had  possibly  returned  to  London — all  these  im- 
portant facts  were  nothing  to  him,  and  he  did  not  realise,  when 
he  looked  in  the  mirror,  that  the  reflection  in  its  depths  seemed 
to  belong  to  some  alien  and  ghostly  personage.  To  finish, 
to  finish ! There  would  be  time  enough  afterwards  for 
thinking. 

And  at  midnight,  some  days  later,  the  end  came — the 
Andante  maestoso  that  began  with  a sombre  moaning  of  the 
wood-wind  and  finished  with  a great  cry  from  trombones  and 
horns  and  a thunder  of  drums.  He  drew  two  neat  lines  very 
carefully  at  the  foot  of  the  last  page,  signed  his  name,  and  rose 
suddenly  from  his  chair,  staring  at  the  light  which  hung  above 
the  table.  For  a moment  he  stood  motionless,  with  his  hands 
clasped  behind  his  head,  and  his  whole  body  thrilling  with  the 
ecstasy  of  attainment ; then  the  light  grew  dim,  and  went 
out,  leaving  him  in  a tangible  horror  of  darkness  that  pressed 
against  him  from  every  side.  He  took  a step  backward, 
knocking  over  the  chair,  and  then  the  light  gleamed  again, 
very  faintly,  and  all  the  room  seemed  filled  with  blood.  He 
uttered  a cry,  and  fell  across  the  table.  When  sense  returned 
to  him  the  windows  were  white  with  dawn.  He  tried  to 
undress,  but  his  hands  were  too  tremulous,  and  eventually  he 
flung  himself  fully  clothed  on  his  bed.  During  the  heavy 
sleep  that#  overcame  him  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  com- 
pelled by  some  interior  frenzy  to  fill  sheet  after  sheet  of 
manuscript  paper  with  a crowd  of  words  and  symbols  which 
would  not  remain  in  position,  but  crawled  across  the  page  and 
then  vanished,  whizzing  past  his  face,  or  falling  on  the  floor 
heavily,  like  some  unclean  insect.  He  was  trying  painfully, 
for  the  hundredth  time,  to  collect  them  when  he  awoke, 
feeling  very  cold  and  aching  in  every  limb. 


356 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


XXXVI 

AS  he  changed  his  clothes  he  looked  out  of  the  window. 

Rain  was  falling  steadily,  and  the  sky  and  the  streets 
wore  a dismal  and  sodden  aspect.  He  felt  very  tired ; the 
reaction  that  was  inevitable  after  the  strenuous  performance 
of  the  last  few  weeks  had  already  begun,  and  even  the  sight 
of  his  completed  manuscript  brought  him  little  comfort.  Why, 
after  all,  had  he  half  killed  himself  with  the  effort  to  finish  it  ? 
It  would  probably  have  been  finer  if  he  had  conquered  it 
slowly  and  calmly  ; and  now  there  was  nothing  for  him  to  do 
but  to  think  of  all  sorts  of  depressing  affairs,  for  he  was  much 
too  tired  to  begin  another  piece  of  work.  He  glanced  at  a 
few  pages  of  the  suite,  and  wondered  if  all  the  others  were 
equally  crude. 

The  servant,  whose  matutinal  struggles  with  black  lead 
had  given  her  a remarkable  resemblance  to  a tattooed  squaw, 
brought  his  breakfast  on  a tray,  and  after  depositing  it  on  the 
table,  retired  behind  the  curtain  which  concealed  his  bed  and 
washing-stand  during  the  day.  He  sat  down  and  poured  out 
some  very  black  tea,  but  he  could  eat  nothing  ; the  sight  of  an 
anaemic  egg  lying  disconsolately  between  two  pieces  of  drab 
and  greasy  bacon  revolted  him  ; there  were  smuts  on  the 
butter,  and  the  cup  and  saucer  were  stamped  with  the  maid's 
inevitable  sign-manual.  From  behind  the  curtain  came  the 
sound  of  slops  that  were  emptied  into  a tin  pail,  mingled  with 
loud  sniffs  and  a reiterated  wheezy  coughing.  He  sat  at  the 
table  with  his  head  propped  on  his  hands  until  the  tea  in  his 
cup  had  grown  tepid.  He  attempted  to  drink  it,  then  turned 
away  with  a shiver  of  disgust,  drawing  his  chair  towards  the 
fireless  grate,  and  trying  to  forget  the  existence  of  that  abomin- 
able egg.  How  sordid  every  detail  of  his  life  seemed  in  the 
cold  grey  light  of  morning  ! Was  there  any  one  else  in  the 
world,  he  wondered,  who  was  obliged  to  contemplate  nauseat- 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


357 


ing  food  whilst  slops  were  being  emptied  ? Did  that  woman 
ever  cease  from  sniffing  ? He  pressed  his  cold  hands  against 
his  hot  forehead,  feeling  more  wretchedly  ill  every  moment, 
and  stared  at  a photograph  of  Rosalind  which  adorned  the 
middle  of  the  mantelpiece — a photograph  which  had  been 
taken  when  they  had  been  together  in  Paris,  long  before  her 
pigtail  had  ascended  to  become  a halo.  If  only  she  were  with 
him  now  ! If  only  he  could  hear  the  sound  of  her  voice,  and 
forget  how  ill  he  felt,  how  dismal  and  disgusting  his  life  had 
grown  ! But  such  longings,  of  course,  were  ridiculous  ; she 
didn’t  care  about  him  any  more  ; she  wouldn’t  come  even  if 
she  knew  he  was  ill ; she  would  go  to  that  beast,  that  coarse 
pig  of  a painter. 

He  took  the  portrait  from  the  mantelpiece  and  contemplated 
it  sadly,  remembering  various  episodes  of  that  sunny  morning 
in  Paris  when  she  had  been  escorted  to  the  photographer’s 
studio  by  Mr.  Duroy  and  Noel  and  himself  ; how  the  photo- 
grapher had  exhorted  her  to  imagine  the  sensations  of  the 
Grande  Mademoiselle  in  the  act  of  firing  the  Bastille  cannon — 
his  studio  was  close  to  the  Place  de  la  Republique — and  how 
Noel  had  been  ejected  from  the  room  because  he  uttered  a deep 
groan,  as  if  he  were  witnessing  an  execution,  at  the  moment 
when  the  artist  was  about  to  remove  the  cap  from  the  lens.  If 
only  one  of  those  splendid  days  might  return  ! If  only  that 
happy  company  could  have  remained  aloof  from  death,  and 
change  that  was  worse  than  death  ! Noel,  of  course,  was 
unchanged,  but  Rosalind  seemed  now,  thought  Denis,  far  more 
remote  from  him  than  Mr.  Duroy.  Nothing  could  ever  happen 
that  would  tarnish  the  memory  of  that  incomparable  friend  ; 
but  she  had  changed  so  completely  that  one  couldn’t  even  look 
at  a portrait  of  her  as  she  was  without  a thrill  of  desperate 
bitterness.  It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  thrill  that  he  tore  the 
photograph  in  small  pieces  and  flung  them  into  the  grate.  A 
moment  afterwards  he  would  have  given  everything  that  he 
possessed  in  the  world  in  order  not  to  have  committed  this  act 
of  vindictive  folly.  He  fell  on  his  knees  and  collected  the  poor, 
dishonoured  fragments  of  cardboard  with  his  trembling  fingers, 
and  when  he  saw  the  eyes  of  Rosalind  looking  at  him  reproach- 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


358 

fully  from  one  of  them,  his  own  smarted  with  sudden  tears. 
What  a fool  he  was  ! What  a wretched,  whining,  mean- 
spirited  fool ! 

His  head  began  to  throb  intolerably,  and  the  effort  of  stoop- 
ing had  made  him  feel  dizzy.  The  ghostly  beehives  which  had 
troubled  him  vaguely  while  he  worked  had  given  place  to  an 
army  of  drummers,  who  thundered  their  sinister  music  in  a 
maddening  crescendo.  It  was  obvious  that  he  was  on  the 
verge  of  some  possibly  serious  illness  ; his  mouth  was  parched 
with  a foul  dryness,  and  black  discs  pursued  one  another  in- 
cessantly across  the  field  of  his  vision.  But  it  didn’t  matter ; 
he  didn’t  care  in  the  least  how  ill  he  became  ; even  if  he  died 
it  didn’t  matter  ; after  behaving  in  that  unpardonable  way, 
after  defiling  and  destroying  Rosalind’s  image,  he  certainly 
wasn’t  worthy  of  life.  And,  perhaps,  if  he  died,  she  would  be 
sorry  ; when  she  heard  his  name  there  would  be  a grave,  sweet 
light  in  her  eyes — the  light  that  shone  there  when  she  spoke  of 
her  father.  He  would  leave  a letter  for  her,  to  be  read  after 
his  death.  . . . Perhaps  she  would  realise  then  that  Grim- 
shaw  was  not  the  only  person  in  the  world. 

He  would  have  been  unable  to  define  the  reason  of  all 
his  bitterness  even  if  he  had  desired  to  do  so  ; he  knew  only 
that  some  fierce  instinct  made  him  burn  with  insensate  fury 
whenever  he  thought  of  the  episode  in  St.  Paul’s.  Life,  in 
company  with  her  and  Noel,  was  like  an  enchanted  garden,  an 
earthly  Paradise,  into  which  Grimshaw  had  forced  his  way  and 
was  trampling  on  all  its  delicate  flowers  with  sacrilegious  feet. 
No  one  had  any  right  to  penetrate  to  the  recesses  of  that 
pleasance — least  of  all  Grimshaw,  the  foul-mouthed,  the 
drunkard,  the  beast  who,  though  married,  was  not  ashamed  to 
kiss  the  hand  of  a girl  of  twenty.  And  it  was  Rosalind  herself 
who  had  admitted  him,  who  had  given  him  the  golden  key ! 
That  dreadful  truth  had  been  apparent  to  him  from  the 
moment  when  he  saw  her  eyes  turn  towards  the  painter  in  the 
Cathedral.  ...  Of  course,  it  was  not  altogether  her  fault ; 
she  was  so  kind,  so  pitiful.  But  there  was  something  more  in 
her  face  than  mere  kindness  and  pity.  If  he  himself  had  been 
able  to  evoke  that  soft  glow  in  those  dear  eyes,  the  keenest 


THE  FIRST  ROUND  359 

arrows  of  the  world  would  have  found  him  invulnerable  ; he 
would  have  grown  as  the  gods, 

and  seen 

Grief  collapse  as  a thing  disproved. 

Death  consume  as  a thing  unclean . 

It  was  the  glow,  he  realised  at  last,  which  he  had  yearned  un- 
consciously to  behold  ever  since  the  day  when  he  first  went  to 
Parnasse.  He  had  been  too  young  then  to  understand  ; even 
of  late,  in  France,  he  had  regarded  her  only  as  a perfect  friend, 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  she  haunted  all  his  thoughts  by  day  and 
by  night,  and  that  whenever  he  saw  her  he  felt  an  extraordin- 
ary thrill  in  his  heart.  He  had  been  wrong ; he  had  duped 
himself  from  first  to  last.  His  desire  of  her  presence  was  as 
far  above  friendship  as  the  great  stars  of  heaven  are  above 
the  tiny  lamps  of  the  world.  He  knew  the  truth  now.  He 
loved  her. 

And  it  was  Grimshaw — oh  irony  of  ironies  ! — who  had 
revealed  the  truth  to  him  ! Too  late  he  knew  it,  knew  also 
that  there  was  no  hope  for  himself.  Rosalind  would  never 
belong  to  the  base  tribe  of  the  unfaithful ; her  soul  was  forged 
of  the  very  metal  of  constancy,  true  and  steadfast  as  tempered 
steel,  and  as  nobly  bright.  His  life  was  ruined,  he  thought  ; 
there  was  nothing  worth  living  for  now,  not  even  music — least 
of  all,  music.  He  looked  at  the  manuscript  on  his  table  with 
a swiftly  contemptuous  glance. 

The  somewhat  sickly  egotism  of  these  meditations  became 
partially  apparent  to  him  when  he  thought  again  of  Rosalind. 
What  would  happen  to  her  ? What  was  Grimshaw’s  plan  ? 
Nothing  good,  he  knew,  being  certain  that  he  had  formed  a 
complete  and  accurate  conception  of  the  painter's  character 
from  observation  and  from  hearsay.  The  man  was  a heartless 
egoist,  he  knew,  who  would  sacrifice  any  one  in  order  to  gratify 
his  inclination,  and  here  was  Rosalind,  of  all  people,  ready  to 
be  the  victim — destined,  indeed,  no  matter  what  happened,  to 
play  that  part  ; for  if  Grimshaw  became  tired  of  her  she  would 
still  love  him,  and  her  love  would  be  wasted  ; and  since 
Grimshaw  was  married,  the  other  alternative  was  dreadful, 
impossible  to  contemplate. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


360 

His  head  throbbed  more  and  more  violently  as  he  pursued 
these  gloomy  speculations.  He  could  do  nothing  ; he  knew 
quite  well  that  if  he  found  sufficient  courage  to  undertake  the 
task  of  warning  Rosalind  as  to  Grimshaw’s  true  character,  it 
would  be  useless.  She  would  laugh  ; she  would  not  believe 
him  ; she  would  think  him  an  offensive  spy.  If  only  Noel,  or 
even  little  Sandys,  would  return  to  London  ! 

He  rose,  shivering  violently,  and  only  prevented  himself 
from  falling  back  into  his  chair  by  gripping  the  mantelpiece. 
The  maid  emerged  from  the  curtains.  He  was  astonished  to 
find  that  she  was  still  in  the  room,  for  it  seemed  to  him  that  he 
had  spent  an  hour  in  traversing  that  painful  waste  of  thought. 
Perhaps  his  desolate  aspect  was  apparent  even  to  her  humble 
eyes,  for  she  halted  near  the  door,  holding  a slop-pail  in  one 
hand  and  a dingy  cloth  in  the  other. 

‘ Is  there  anything  yer  want  ? ' she  demanded  hoarsely. 

Denis  replied  with  a negative.  Then  he  remembered  that 
he  was  intensely  cold.  ‘ I should  like  a fire/  he  said. 

The  maid  set  the  slop-pail  on  the  floor,  and  rubbed  her  face 
thoughtfully  with  the  corner  of  her  apron. 

* It 's  going  to  be  a warm  day/  she  observed  after  a moment. 

f I know/  said  Denis,  ‘ but  I 'm  not  well.  I 've  caught  a 
chill,  I think/ 

The  maid  rubbed  her  face  more  vigorously  and  balanced 
herself  alternately  on  either  foot. 

' I wouldn't  'ave  one  if  I was  you,'  she  said.  ‘ I Ve  made 
yer  bed  if  you  want  to  lie  down  'cos  yer  ill.'  Denis  thought 
that  she  was  trying  to  avoid  the  trouble  of  bringing  up  coal  and 
wood,  and  sympathised  with  her.  He  knew  that  she  had  a 
completely  joyless  life.  But  he  felt  that  he  must  have  a fire 
or  perish,  and  said  so.  She  listened  to  him  with  a queer 
expression  of  embarrassment  spreading  over  her  pinched, 
misshapen  face,  and  then  she  blurted  out  suddenly : 

‘ Mr.  Judkins  says  you  ain’t  to  'ave  one.' 

Mr.  Judkins  was  the  landlord  with  a propensity  for  hovering. 
Denis  stared  at  her  for  a moment,  and  then  realised  that  Mr. 
J udkins  was  at  the  limit  of  his  patience.  He  sat  down  slowly 
in  the  chair. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


361 


‘ Oh,  all  right/  he  said. 

But  the  maid  became  communicative.  ‘ And  'e  said  as  'ow 
you  weren't  to  'ave  no  lunch  unless  'e  gave  orders  for  it/  she 
continued  ; ‘ but  I said  it  was  a shime,  with  you  that  eat  so 
little.'  She  swayed  uneasily  from  one  foot  to  the  other,  and 
her  face  seemed  to  be  contorted  with  an  effort  to  express 
some  kind  of  sympathy.  ‘ It  ain't  my  fault,  sir,'  she  con- 
cluded. ‘ I 'd  lay  you  a fire  and  willing,  but  'e 'd  turn  me 
out  if  'e  'eard  on  it.' 

4 No,  it 's  not  your  fault,'  said  Denis  listlessly,  turning  to  the 
empty  grate.  He  was  conscious  that  she  lingered  in  the  room 
for  another  moment,  then  he  heard  her  pick  up  her  pail  and 
depart.  For  once,  she  did  not  slam  the  door.  Denis  put  on  a 
greatcoat  and  a scarf,  and  huddled  himself  into  a narrow  patch 
of  sunlight.  He  felt  too  weak  to  care  about  the  cutting-off  of 
supplies  ; at  present  he  hailed  the  prospect  of  going  without 
food  as  a positive  relief.  But  he  longed  for  a fire,  and  felt  as 
if  he  could  have  begged  for  it  on  his  knees  even  from  Judkins. 
Perhaps  it  would  be  as  well,  he  thought,  to  send  the  man  all  the 
money  that  he  possessed.  He  searched  in  his  pockets  and 
found  that  his  capital  in  English  money  consisted  of  four 
shillings  and  twopence-halfpenny.  He  knew,  however,  that 
he  had  a twenty-franc  piece  which  he  had  brought  from  France, 
and  he  possessed  a gold  watch  and  chain  and  a pair  of  gold 
sleeve-links.  If  he  changed  the  French  coin  into  English 
money  and  pawned  the  watch  he  would  probably  be  able  to 
appease  the  landlord,  for  a while,  at  any  rate.  But  to  transact 
this  depressing  business  it  would  be  necessary  for  him  to  go 
out,  to  walk  as  far  as  the  King's  Road,  and  he  felt  so  feeble 
that  he  shrank  from  the  idea  of  leaving  his  chair.  At  length 
he  rose,  and  managed  to  walk  across  the  room,  though  the 
sinews  at  the  back  of  his  knees  seemed  to  have  withered,  and 
the  floor  behaved  like  the  deck  of  a harassed  ship.  He  put  on 
a cap,  turned  up  his  collar,  and  descended  the  stairs  very 
slowly,  hoping  with  all  his  heart  that  Mr.  Judkins  would  not 
hear  the  sound  of  his  faltering  steps. 

The  landlord,  however,  was  on  the  watch,  and  awaited  him 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  Mr.  Judkins  watched  the  precarious 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


362 

descent  of  Denis  with  an  unsympathetic  eye  ; his  thumbs  were 
thrust  in  the  armholes  of  his  waistcoat,  his  stubbly  chin  was 
grimly  projected,  and  when  he  spoke  it  was  apparent  that  he 
had  abandoned  his  mask  of  oily  politeness.  As  soon  as  Denis 
was  sufficiently  near  he  began  to  air  his  grievance. 

' I 'm  just  about  sick  of  this/  he  announced.  ‘ I s'pose  you 
think  I 'm  going  to  keep  on  providing  you  with  fires  and 
victuals  and  attendance  free,  gratis  and  for  nothing  for  the 
rest  of  your  life,  but  I tell  you  I 'm  about  fed-up  with  it,  and  if 
you  were  a gentleman  so  would  you  be.  What  I want  to  know 
is,  are  you  going  to  pay  me  or  aren't  you  ? You  've  put  me 
off  week  after  week  with  promises  and  lies,  and  I 've  had 
enough  of  it.  It 's  the  limit,  the  very  limit.  I’ma  poor  man, 
and  I ain't  going  to  chuck  away  my  savings  supporting  a young 
fellow  who  lives  like  a lord  and  spends  the  day  strumming  away 
on  the  piano  like  a girl  at  a boarding-school.  I 've  'ad  your 
sort  'ere  before,  and  I 'm  none  the  richer  and  much  the  wiser. 
Now,  what  d'  ye  mean  to  do  ? ' 

He  glanced  at  Denis  with  his  foxy  eyes.  The  boy  inwardly 
cursed  his  illness,  for  it  made  him  so  weak  that  he  felt  afraid 
even  of  the  ridiculous  Judkins.  His  head  swam  ; the  face  of 
the  landlord  seemed  to  advance  and  recede  in  a cloud  of  black 
spots  and  rotating  discs.  He  leant  against  the  wall. 

‘ I 'm  just  going  out  to  get  some  money,'  he  said  feebly. 

Mr.  Judkins  snorted. 

‘ And  mind  you  get  it ! ' he  shouted  : ‘ mind  you  get  it,  for 
by  the  Lord  you  don’t  come  back  into  this  'ouse  until  you  can 
pay  your  footing  ! If  you  want  to  be  kept  free  of  charge,  you 
can  go  to  the  work’ouse — or  the  gaol — that 's  where  you  '11 
end  up,  I can  tell  you,  if  you  go  on  thieving  from  respectable 
ratepayers.  You  a gentleman  ! Every  bar  in  the  Strand 's 
full  of  your  sort — wasters,  loafers  who  talk,  talk,  talk,  and 
cadge,  borrow  a shilling  'ere  and  a sixpence  there — and  play 
the  piano  like  a lady  and  stink  of  gin.  Actors,  most  of  'em, 
all  bloody  Irvings  by  their  own  account,  and  piano-players, 
and  foreign  noblemen  in  misfortune.  I know  them  ! I 've 
seen  them  all  before  ! You 'd  better  take  a 'bus  and  join  ’em, 
for  I tell  you  flat  and  plain,  you  won't  stay  'ere  unless  I see  the 


THE  FIRST  ROUND  363 

colour  of  your  money  double-quick.  You  put  that  in  your 
mouth  and  chew  it.' 

Having  delivered  himself  of  this  torrent  of  eloquence,  he 
folded  his  arms  and  stared  majestically  at  his  lodger.  Denis 
hated  him  ; yet,  he  supposed,  the  man  had  the  right  on  his 
side  ; he  himself  was  in  reality  little  better  than  a thief.  He 
pulled  himself  together,  and  descended  to  the  passage.  When 
he  spoke  he  felt  as  if  he  were  listening  to  the  reproduction  of 
his  own  voice  by  some  distant  and  husky  gramophone. 

' I ’m  sorry  I haven’t  paid  you/  it  said,  ‘ but  all  the  same 
you  ’re  an  insolent  beast.  I ’ll  bring  back  the  money,  but  I ’ll 
never  enter  your  filthy  house  again.  Please  let  me  pass.’ 

As  an  effort  towards  dignity  the  speech  was  a distinct 
failure.  Mr.  Judkins  went  to  the  door  and  held  it  open. 

‘ With  the  greatest  of  pleasure,’  he  replied.  ‘ That ’s  the 
ticket ! Curse  and  swear  and  talk  like  a lord — they  all  do  it ! 
But  you  won’t  do  it  any  more  in  my  house.  The  open  air 
is  the  place  for  you,  my  fine  young  fellow.  Good  morning  ! 9 
and  he  closed  the  door  with  a bang. 

At  any  other  time  the  foolish  scene  would  have  made  Denis 
laugh,  but  now  he  walked  away  with  a sinking  heart,  and 
loathed  himself  for  having  answered  the  landlord.  How 
sordid  and  hideous  life  had  grown  ! One  had  only  to  be  with- 
out money  in  order  to  endure  the  insolence  of  any  vile  rascal, 
and  music  and  gentle  nurture  were  of  no  avail  when  one  de- 
scended naked  to  the  arena  where  life  waited  to  take  one  by 
the  throat.  How  disgusting  it  was  that  the  possession  of  a 
few  little  discs  of  gold  should  make  all  the  difference  ! He 
meditated  over  this  strangely  original  discovery  for  some 
moments,  and  then  he  realised  that  the  rain  was  still  falling, 
and  that  his  colloquy  with  Mr.  Judkins  had  caused  him  to 
forget  his  umbrella.  He  shuffled  slowly  down  the  street, 
feeling  that  the  effort  of  holding  himself  in  an  upright  position 
was  growing  more  grievous  every  moment.  Twice  he  was 
overcome  by  a vertigo  that  forced  him  to  cling  to  the  wet 
railings,  and  after  these  attacks  the  pain  in  his  head  became 
almost  intolerable.  A ragged  woman  who  was  passing  up  the 
street  stared  at  him  with  an  expression  that  hovered  between 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


364 

pity  and  fear,  and  a small  boy  jeered  at  him.  He  was  conscious 
of  little  but  an  immense  craving  to  lie  down  then  and  there 
on  the  wet  pavement  and  to  go  to  sleep  for  ever. 

At  length  he  reached  the  Embankment.  The  sight  of  the 
brown  river  brought  him  a dim  recollection  of  the  fact  that 
near  it  there  were  seats — seats  where  one  could  sit  undis- 
turbed for  hours,  seats  where  one  could  sleep  with  the  cool 
rain  falling  on  one's  burning  forehead,  forgetful  of  all  the 
horror  of  life. 

As  he  crossed  the  road  he  was  almost  obliterated  by  a four- 
wheeled  cab  ; one  of  the  axles  struck  the  side  of  his  knee,  but 
he  scarcely  felt  the  blow,  and  crept  on  his  way  without  heeding 
the  frantic  curses  of  the  aged  driver.  How  wide  the  road  had 
grown  ! its  mud  seemed  to  shine  before  him  like  an  infinite 
wilderness,  and  the  lamp-posts  of  the  Embankment  wavered 
and  receded  like  the  ideal  of  an  artist.  But  he  accomplished 
the  immense  journey  at  last ; his  feet  touched  the  pavement, 
and  a moment  later  he  fell  back  inertly  on  one  of  the  seats  and 
lay  there  with  his  eyes  closed  and  his  face  turned  towards  the 
grey  sky.  How  delicious,  to  lie  motionless  ! How  soft  and 
gentle  the  touch  of  the  rain  on  one's  brow  ! It  was  like 
something — something  said  long  ago,  in  some  strange  place 
where  there  had  been  hills,  and  a girl's  voice,  and  rain,  soft 
steady  rain — yes  ! like  cool  fingers,  that  was  it.  But  one 
mustn’t  think — that  was  torture  ; one  must  only  he  there  and 
feel  the  rain.  One  would  die,  probably  ; one  was  very  ill, 
but  that  didn't  matter.  One  didn't  feel  pain  now  ; only  a 
delicious  torpor  which  crept  very  slowly  up  one’s  limbs. 
Everything  was  peace — a wet  day,  no  one  about  ; no  chance 
of  being  disturbed.  No  need  to  think  of  anything  ; it  was 
all  over — Rosalind,  his  father,  Mr.  Judkins  and  music — they 
were  all  phantoms  that  grew  dimmer  every  moment.  He 
would  stay  here  for  hours — no  need  to  go  back  to  lunch. 
Noel  wouldn't  mind.  Or  would  he  come  to  find  him,  come  to 
disturb  him  and  take  him  away  ? How  absurd  ! Of  course 
there  wasn't  any  Noel,  and  there  wasn't  any  lunch.  That  was 
funny  and  delightful.  No  Noel,  no  lunch,  nothing  in  the  world 
but  the  cool  rain,  and  sleep,  sleep.  How  the  river  hummed — 


THE  FIRST  ROUND  365 

like  a great  beehive,  like  an  army  of  drummers.  But  soothing 
— as  soon  as  one  became  used  to  it,  very  soothing. 

It  was  from  the  river  that  an  immense  black  wave  of 
oblivion  seemed  to  rise  and  enfold  him,  rocking  him  softly  to 
and  fro  within  its  mighty  breast,  and  lulling  him  to  a slumber 
that  knew  no  dreams. 


366 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


XXXVII 

HE  was  aroused  by  a hand  that  shook  his  arm  gently  but 
persistently,  and  when  he  opened  his  eyes  he  saw  that 
a female  figure,  draped  in  a shining  waterproof  and  holding 
an  umbrella,  was  bending  over  him.  He  stared  blankly  at  it 
for  a moment,  feeling  pain  creeping  through  his  veins  like  a 
sluggish,  fiery  stream. 

‘ Well,  I never  did  in  all  my  born  days  ! 5 said  the  female 
figure.  ‘ It  is  Mr.  Yorke,  and  fast  asleep  in  the  rain  ! Do 
you  always  take  your  cold  bath  out  here,  Mr.  Yorke  ? ' 

When  she  spoke,  he  realised  that  the  voice  belonged  to 
Topsy,  and  hated  her.  Why  did  she  come  to  disturb  him 
when  he  was  sleeping  so  happily,  when  he  had  forgotten  all 
the  world  and  his  pain  ? He  must  get  rid  of  her  ; she  must 
go  away.  He  tried  to  utter  some  words — ‘ I 'm  all  right,  let 
me  alone  ; want  to  sleep  let  me  alone,  for  God's  sake.  Go 
away.'  But  he  could  only  speak  in  a low  whisper.  Topsy 
stepped  back,  and  contemplated  him  from  beneath  her 
umbrella.  Ac 

‘ And  what  do  you  suppose  Mr.  Tellier  would  say,'  she  cried 
with  indignation  in  every  note  of  her  fresh,  hard  voice.  ‘ You 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  Mr.  Yorke  ; a boy  like  you, 
and  at  this  hour  in  the  morning.  I never  heard  such  a thing  ! ' 
Denis  felt  that  deep  down  inside  him  some  one  was  laughing. 
So  she  thought  he  was  drunk  ; that  was  funny.  Better 
pretend  to  be,  then  she  would  go  away,  and  leave  him  alone, 
leave  him  to  sleep,  to  sleep.  How  on  earth  did  one  pretend 
to  be  drunk  ? Oh  yes,  one  hiccoughed  ; but  he  couldn't 
hiccough  ; and  one  spoke  queerly,  but  it  seemed  that  he 
couldn't  speak  at  all.  No  good  trying  ; better  just  to  go  to 
sleep  and  let  her  go  away.  What  a nuisance  she  was  ! 

But  apparently  Topsy  had  no  intention  of  going  away. 
She  leant  over  him  and  spoke  in  a horribly  loud  voice. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


367 

* You  can't  stop  here,'  she  said,  4 you  're  wet  through — 
sopping  wet ! Look  here,  Mr.  Yorke,  you  've  got  to  get  up 
and  go  home,  somehow.  Can  you  walk  ? ' 

Oh,  why  couldn't  she  leave  one  alone  ! He  groaned,  and 
uttered  a few  words  which  were  just  audible.  4 Very  ill. 
Want  to  be  alone.  Want  to  die,'  he  explained.  Then  he 
realised  dimly  that  she  had  taken  his  hand.  Next  moment 
she  spoke  in  an  altered  voice. 

4 Why,  you  are  ill,'  she  said,  and  drew  in  her  breath  quickly 
between  her  teeth.  Denis  opened  his  eyes  and  saw  that 
she  was  looking  up  and  down  the  Embankment.  Then  his 
head  fell  forward,  he  would  have  slipped  from  the  seat,  but 
Topsy  caught  him  as  he  fell  and  propped  him  up.  He  closed 
his  eyes  again. 

4 Oh  dear,  oh  dear  ! ' she  cried  ; 4 there  isn't  a soul  out  to- 
day, and  you  're  catching  your  death  every  minute  ! ' She 
took  off  her  mackintosh  and  flung  it  over  his  shoulders.  4 Now 
listen  to  me,  Mr.  Yorke,'  she  said,  holding  him  firmly  with  one 
arm.  4 Listen  to  me  ; you 've  got  to  walk.  It 's  only  a step 
to  your  room,  and  if  you  stay  here  you  'll  die,  do  you  hear  ? 
You  'll  die.  Your  hands  are  dead  already.  You  can  lean 
on  me,  I 'll  half  carry  you  ; you  needn’t  be  afraid,  for  I 'm  as 
strong  as  a horse.' 

The  some  one  far  down  in  Denis's  inside  giggled  again,  and 
he  heard  the  gramophone  voice  talking.  4 Can't  go  there,' 
it  said  triumphantly.  4 Turned  out — turned  out  by  landlord 
Mayn't  go  back.  No  rent.  Oh-let-me-alone  ! ' 

4 Is  that  true  ? ' he  heard  Topsy  demand,  and  another 
gramophone  voice  answered,  4 True,  quite  true,'  and  began  to 
weep.  What  fools  they  were,  these  gramophone  voices  ! 
Why  couldn’t  they  keep  quiet  ? She  would  go  away  then. 
A moment  later  he  realised  that  he  was  being  raised  to  an 
upright  position  by  two  strong  arms.  He  fell  forward  against 
some  kind  of  soft  buttress,  and  then  opened  his  eyes  to  find 
that  he  was  being  firmly  guided  across  a road  that  heaved 
and  swam,  and  was  full  of  sudden  hills  and  hazardous 
valleys. 

4 You  just  lean  all  your  weight  on  me,'  said  Topsy  through 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


368 

her  set  teeth.  And  he  obeyed,  for  a horror  of  falling  into  one 
of  those  ravines  came  over  him. 

The  dark  wave  of  oblivion  seemed  to  follow  him  from  the 
river  and  engulfed  him  again,  but,  very  dimly,  he  was  conscious 
of  certain  events  that  happened  in  the  world  beyond  it.  He 
knew  when  they  had  crossed  the  road — the  passage  of  that 
dreadful  barrier  seemed  to  occupy  many  ages — and  he  realised 
that  some  one  with  a masculine  voice  was  speaking  to  Topsy 
and  took  his  other  arm.  ‘ Ought  to  go  to  the  hospital/  said 
the  masculine  voice,  and  Topsy  replied,  4 Not  if  I know  it ! 
Home  ’s  nearer.'  He  felt  that  nothing  in  the  world  would 
make  him  open  his  eyes  to  behold  the  owner  of  the  unknown 
voice,  for  he  knew  that  there  would  be  more  deep  valleys  and 
jagged  hills  in  the  pavement.  Presently  they  halted  at  a door 
on  which  Topsy  knocked.  The  gramophone  inside  him 
giggled  again,  and  Denis  knew  that  it  was  expecting  to  hear 
Mr.  Judkins,  and  wondered  why  a gramophone  should  possess 
a sense  of  humour.  Mr.  Judkins,  however,  was  inaudible 
when  the  door  opened,  or  was  contriving  to  utter  exclama- 
tions of  surprise  in  feminine  pitch.  Afterwards  he  was  just 
conscious  of  being  forced  to  scale  some  intolerably  steep  stairs, 
and  then  he  knew  that  he  was  laid  on  a bed  and  that  busy 
fingers  were  undressing  him  swiftly.  When  he  was  in  bed 
something  hot  and  liquid  was  poured  into  his  mouth  and  burnt 
its  way  down  his  throat  like  a stream  of  lava.  The  gramo- 
phone voice  gurgled,  and  it  occurred  to  him  that  the  liquid 
was  probably  a strong  poison  brewed  by  the  revengeful 
Judkins.  But  he  didn’t  care  ; he  was  at  ease,  stretched  out 
between  warm  sheets  with  his  head  on  a soft  pillow.  He  could 
go  to  sleep  for  ever  at  last. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


369 


XXXVIII 

BUT  it  was  not  long  before  his  slumber  became  haunted 
by  strange  and  painful  visions.  The  scenes  amongst 
which  he  was  compelled  to  move  were  vague  and  meaningless 
at  first,  and  peopled  with  grotesque  shadows  which  vanished 
when  he  approached  them  ; but  gradually  the  aspect  of  that 
phantom  world  became  sharply  definite,  and  he  played  his  part 
in  a fantastic  pageant  that  was  poignant  in  its  reality.  For 
its  stage  it  had  a long  embankment  that  stretched  for  many 
miles  by  the  side  of  a murky  river,  and  its  protagonist  was 
Rosalind,  always  Rosalind.  Sometimes  he  saw  her  as  in  the 
old  days  at  Parnasse,  in  the  tartan  frock,  with  her  clear  skin 
beautifully  stained  by  the  sun  and  wind  ; sometimes  she  wore 
the  white  dress  that  was  associated  with  the  French  holiday  ; 
and  she  was  always  there,  walking  swiftly  in  front  of  him, 
whilst  he  followed  her  over  the  pavement  that  heaved  like  the 
waves  of  the  sea  and  menaced  him  with  yawning  chasms.  He 
knew  that  he  had  some  immensely  important  information  for 
her  ears,  but  never  could  remember  exactly  what  it  was.  He 
kept  on  calling  her  by  name,  but  she  never  turned ; and 
always,  at  the  moment  when  a level  stretch  of  pavement 
offered  him  the  chance  of  overtaking  her,  the  figure  of  Grim- 
shaw  appeared  and  thrust  him  back.  He  knew  that  she  was 
hurrying  towards  some  dreadful  goal,  and  that  at  any  cost  he 
must  overtake  her,  save  her  ; but  the  weary  pursuit  would 
continue  until  he  felt  as  if  he  had  traversed  all  the  world.  At 
last  he  would  see  her  figure,  tiny  in  the  distance,  hurrying  on 
miles  ahead  of  him  ; he  would  utter  a desperate  cry,  and, 
stumbling,  would  fall  into  one  of  the  chasms  in  the  pavement, 
down,  down  into  stifling  obscurity.  And  then  the  whole 
scene  would  begin  again. 

Sometimes,  as  he  followed  her,  he  would  glance  at  the  river, 
and  would  see,  without  surprise,  the  figure  of  his  father 


370 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


struggling  in  the  dark  water.  His  father  would  cry  to  him 
pitifully  for  help,  and  he  would  know  that  it  was  quite  easy  to 
stop  and  save  him,  to  lean  over  the  parapet  and  clutch  his 
hand.  But  he  would  avert  his  eyes  from  that  agonised  face, 
and  hurry  on,  until  the  dreadful  thought  that  he  was  a 
murderer  made  him  halt  and  tremble  violently.  He  would 
scan  the  river  and  see,  no  face,  but  something  ghastly  and 
shapeless  which  rolled  slowly  to  and  fro  beneath  the  surface  of 
the  water.  This  vision,  too,  recurred  again  and  again  with 
exactly  the  same  details. 

Often  he  played  a part  in  less  tragic  events,  but  even  amid 
the  most  absurd  scenes  he  would  be  conscious  of  an  acute 
sensation  of  foreboding,  as  if  the  comedy  was  hovering  always 
on  the  verge  of  some  sinister  climax  ; and  the  end  of  the  vision 
usually  justified  his  apprehensions.  Noel  would  appear,  talk- 
ing and  laughing  gaily,  and  would  juggle  marvellously  with 
many  very  long  bright  knives.  Denis  would  watch  him 
anxiously,  telling  himself  all  the  while  that  Noel  was  very 
clever,  very  careful,  and  nothing  dreadful  could  possibly 
happen.  Immediately  a knife  would  leap  from  the  circle  of 
flying  steel  and  gouge  out  Noel’s  eye,  and  Noel,  with  his  face 
bathed  in  blood,  would  continue  to  laugh  and  talk.  Topsy, 
absolutely  destitute  of  clothing,  would  appear  on  the  Embank- 
ment, her  white  body  looking  very  beautiful  against  the  back- 
ground of  grimy  stone.  She,  too,  would  talk  and  laugh,  but 
very  soon  men  with  brutal  faces  would  seize  her  roughly,  and 
Denis  knew  that  they  would  strangle  her  because  she  had 
forgotten  to  put  on  her  clothes  before  coming  out  into  the 
public  ways.  He  would  try  to  rescue  her,  but  his  feet  would 
be  glued  to  the  ground,  and  his  arms  became  so  heavy  that  it 
was  impossible  to  move  them.  The  men  would  kill  Topsy,  and 
would  throw  her  bruised  and  twisted  body  over  the  parapet. 
Then  they  would  all  light  their  pipes  and  walk  away  arm-in- 
arm singing  one  of  Denis’s  songs. 

He  passed,  at  long  intervals,  from  this  vivid  and  terrible 
world  into  a dimly-lit  room  where  his  body  lay  in  a bed  that 
had  become  uncomfortably  hot,  and  where  the  walls  seemed  to 
echo  the  loud  throbbing  in  his  brain.  It  was  a dreadful  place, 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


37i 


this  room  ! as  soon  as  he  reached  it  he  felt  as  if  some  one  were 
thrusting  sharp  knives  between  his  ribs,  and  his  throat  ached 
with  acute  thirst.  But  he  visited  it  very  rarely  ; almost  all 
the  time  was  spent  in  stumbling  along  that  never-ending 
Embankment. 

But  at  last  there  came  a day  when  he  reached  the  room,  to 
find  that  there  was  more  light  in  it  than  he  had  ever  seen  there. 
He  found,  also,  that  the  throbbing  in  his  head  had  ceased,  and 
that  the  pain  in  his  body  and  limbs  had  become  perceptibly 
lessened.  He  was  extremely  tired  and  weak,  but  the  feverish 
sense  of  foreboding  which  had  made  all  his  nerves  feel  like 
red-hot  wires  that  became  more  and  more  tense  had  left  him  ; 
he  felt  tranquil,  quite  empty,  and  greatly  inclined  to  sleep. 
He  gave  a short  sigh  of  contentment  and  closed  his  eyes  ; then 
he  opened  them  again  suddenly,  and  tried  to  move  his  head, 
but  the  muscles  of  his  neck  had  apparently  become  quite 
inefficient.  It  was  as  he  had  thought ; the  room  was  a 
dream-chamber  ; it  was  not  in  the  least  like  his  own  ; there 
were  bright  chintz  curtains,  and  frills  on  his  pillow-case,  and  he 
could  not  see  any  sign  of  his  piano.  Yet  he  felt  as  if  he  were 
awake  ; but  of  course  one  often  dreamed  that.  Perhaps  if  he 
dreamed  that  he  went  to  sleep  again  he  would  be  really  awake 
next  time.  He  had  a dim  idea  that  a motionless  figure  was 
sitting  near  the  bedside,  but  it  was  behind  him,  and  he  felt 
quite  unable  to  turn  and  look  at  it.  And  of  course  he  was 
only  a person  in  a dream.  He  had  grown  extremely  tired  of 
dreams. 

He  awoke  about  the  hour  of  sunset,  conscious  that  an  arm 
was  supporting  his  head  and  that  something  liquid  was  being 
poured  down  his  throat.  The  liquid  had  a pleasant  warmth, 
and  he  felt  that  the  pouring  ceased  too  soon.  He  opened  his 
eyes,  blinked  and  frowned  at  the  light,  and  then  contrived  to 
speak.  His  voice,  he  thought,  was  exactly  like  the  clucking  of 
a sick  fowl. 

‘ I want  some  more,’  he  said. 

Some  one  uttered  a stifled  exclamation  of  surprise,  and  then 
a hand,  a rather  red  but  evidently  female  hand,  held  a cup  to 
his  lips.  He  drank  eagerly. 


372 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


‘ Now  you  must  go  to  sleep,  and  not  try  to  talk/  a voice 
whispered.  He  was  content  to  obey  it ; a sudden  and  deli- 
cious drowsiness  overwhelmed  him.  He  slept  throughout  the 
night,  and  trod  the  Embankment  no  more. 

When  he  awoke  again  the  sun  was  shining  strongly  on  the 
window  blind.  He  turned  his  eyes  towards  the  light,  and 
discovered  that  the  same  mysterious  figure  was  still  sitting  by 
the  head  of  his  bed.  He  raised  himself  on  his  elbow  and  stared 
at  it.  Its  hair  was  braided  into  a lump  on  the  top  of  its  head 
and  it  wore  a crimson  dressing-gown.  Then  he  realised  that 
it  was  Topsy.  What  on  earth  was  she  doing  in  his  room  ? 
His  glance  wandered  to  the  bright  chintzes.  Of  course,  it 
wasn’t  his  room  ; it  was  some  strange  place — the  place  that  he 
had  imagined  to  be  a dream-chamber  on  the  previous  evening. 
He  looked  at  the  frilled  pillow-case,  and  at  the  same  moment 
realised  that  he  was  wearing  a most  unfamiliar  kind  of  night- 
shirt. What  was  the  meaning  of  it  all  ? 

Topsy  had  leant  forward  when  he  moved,  and  was  watching 
him  with  a critical  air. 

‘ Well,  what  d’  you  feel  like  this  morning,  Mr.  Yorke  ? ’ 
she  demanded  cheerfully,  but  in  a very  quiet  voice.  Denis 
thought  the  question  over  and  decided  that  he  felt  like  a 
balloon,  a soap-bubble,  a piece  of  thistledown — anything  that 
was  lighter  than  air.  He  replied  to  this  effect,  and  Topsy 
beamed. 

‘ Oh  ! you  really  are  better/  she  cried.  ' The  doctor  said  so 
when  he  saw  you  yesterday,  but  I hardly  dared  to  believe  him. 
He  ’ll  be  here  soon  ; you  mustn’t  talk  till  he  comes.  Go  to 
sleep  again.’ 

She  smoothed  his  pillow  deftly.  But  he  felt  no  desire  for 
sleep,  and  lay  watching  the  narrow  columns  of  sunlight  on  the 
wall.  A delicious  sense  of  being  newly  born  into  some 
pleasant  world  came  over  him  ; the  air  that  drifted  in  through 
the  open  window  was  delightfully  fragrant,  and  all  his  pain  had 
gone.  He  stretched  his  arms  and  legs  slowly  and  luxuriously, 
and  made  ugly  faces  when  Topsy  obliged  him  to  drink  some 
medicine. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  doctor  arrived.  He  was  elderly  and 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


373 


calm,  and  wore  whiskers.  The  sudden  change  in  the  condition 
of  the  patient  did  not  seem  to  surprise  him  * he  examined 
Denis  carefully,  and  asked  him  whether  he  was  still  in  pain. 

‘ You  'll  do  now/  he  said  at  length.  ‘ You  scared  us  finely, 
but  you  have  pulled  round  all  right,  thanks  to  the  best  un- 
professional nurse  I ever  met.  Don't  talk  much,  and  don't 
worry  at  all.  If  you  behave  properly  now  we  'll  have  you  up 
and  about  in  a fortnight.  Musician,  aren't  you  ? Been  over- 
working, I suppose,  like  all  the  rest  of  them.  Terrible  fellows, 
you  artists ! Knock-about  idleness  or  frantic  overwork 
without  regular  meals  and  sleep.  I see  plenty  of  your  sort 
in  Chelsea.  Don't  do  it  again  ; the  big  men  don't  do  it ; 
Whistler — they  tell  me  he 's  a great  man — doesn't  do  it ; he 
may  dress  like  a mountebank,  but  he  works  as  regularly  as 
any  lawyer.  See  you  to-morrow.'  He  waved  his  hand  and 
departed  to  confer  with  Topsy  in  the  adjoining  room. 

She  returned  after  a few  minutes  and  stood  by  the  bedside 
looking  down  at  Denis  and  smiling  broadly. 

' That 's  better  ! ' she  said.  ‘ You  seem  quite  yourself  again 
already.  You  won't  turn  your  toes  up  this  time  after  all/ 
She  smoothed  the  sheet  with  a professional  dexterity.  ‘ Your 
temperature 's  normal  and  you  may  have  something  real  to 
eat.  Feel  hungry,  I expect  ? ' 

'Yes,  I 'm  all  right  now,  thanks,'  said  Denis,  with  the  tone 
of  one  who  has  been  slightly  unwell  for  an  hour. 

Perhaps  Topsy  observed  the  tone,  for  she  asked,  ' How  long 
do  you  think  you  've  been  ill,  Mr.  Yorke  ? ' and  afterwards 
informed  him  that  he  had  been  lying  there  for  nearly  a 
fortnight. 

‘ And  where  am  I ? ' he  asked. 

' Where  should  you  be  but  in  my  room  ? ' said  Topsy.  ‘ The 
gentleman  who  helped  me  to  bring  you  said  you  ought  to  go  to 
the  hospital,  but  I wasn’t  going  to  have  that.  You  were  real 
bad,  and  probably  you 'd  have  died  while  they  were  taking 
down  your  name  and  address  and  the  date  of  your  birth  and 
the  pet  name  your  father  and  mother  call  you  by.  I know  all 
about  hospitals,  'cos  I had  a brother  in  one,  and  he  had 
.diabetes  and  died.  He 's  in  Brompton  cemetery  close  to  the 


374 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


railings.  So  I brought  you  here  ; old  Mrs.  Joyce — she 's  the 
landlady — was  a bit  surprised  at  first,  but  she  soon  went  off  the 
boil.  Yes,  you  've  been  in  my  room,  sleeping  in  my  bed,  and 
wearing  one  of  my  nightgowns,  for  thirteen  blessed  days. 
Awfully  improper,  isn't  it  ? A caution  for  curates,  and  I don't 
wonder  at  your  blushing.  But  it  was  the  thing  to  do  ; I felt 
that  as  strong  as  could  be,  and  when  I do  feel  it,  the  Queen  and 
all  the  archbishops  and  bishops  couldn't  stop  me.  But  I 'm 
talking,  and  you  'll  get  tired.' 

Denis  assured  her  that  he  didn't  feel  as  if  he  could  ever  be 
tired  again,  and  tried  to  thank  her  for  all  that  she  had  done. 
Topsy  seemed  almost  offended  by  his  attempt  to  express  his 
gratitude. 

‘ You  're  not  to  say  a word  about  that,  Mr.  Yorke,'  she  said. 

* I only  did  what  any  one  would  ha.ve  done  who  happened  to 
go  along  the  Embankment  that  morning.  If  I 'd  left  you 
there  I should  have  been  a murderer,  as  much  as  any  one  who 
jabs  a knife  into  some  one  else.  You  're  not  to  mention  it. 
You 'd  have  done  just  the  same  for  me  if  I 'd  been  sitting 
there  and  you 'd  found  me.' 

Denis  thought  over  this  last  remark,  wondering  to  what 
extent  it  was  true.  If  their  positions  had  been  reversed  on 
that  morning,  what  would  he  have  done  ? He  smiled  as  he 
imagined  the  face  of  the  offensive  Judkins  when  he  opened  the 
door  to  behold  his  late  lodger  supporting  the  languid  but 
ample  form  of  Topsy,  and  demanding  admission.  It  would 
certainly  have  been  an  awkward  predicament.  But  his  smile 
vanished  suddenly.  Perhaps  it  had  been  equally  awkward 
for  Topsy  ; probably  her  landlady  had  looked  as  sour  as 
Judkins  would  have  done.  But  Topsy  would  never  admit  it. 
What  a brick  she  was  ! What  a little  cad  he  had  been  to 
think  her  vulgar  ! 

‘ I 've  had  the  time  of  my  life,'  continued  Topsy  ; ‘ the 
doctor  says  I 'm  a born  nurse,  and  worth  a dozen  of  several 
he  knows  who 've  got  medals  and  certificates  and  those  nobby 
little  bonnets.  I used  to  sleep  in  that  chair  for  two  or  three 
hours  and  feel  as  fresh  as  new  paint  in  the  morning  after  I 'd 
had  a cold  bath,  and  you  're  so  thin  I can  lift  you  as  easily  as 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


375 


a baby.  I feel  as  if  you  were  my  baby/  she  concluded  naively, 

1 for  I 've  washed  you  and  fed  you  and  undressed  you,  and  I 
actually  tried  to  sing  you  to  sleep  when  you  tossed  about. 
But  my  songs  are  all  out  of  musical  comedies.  You  didn't 
like  'em/ 

She  stood  for  a moment  looking  at  him  with  an  odd  bright- 
ness in  her  eyes,  then  she  smiled  again  suddenly.  ‘ I really 
won't  talk  any  more,  and  you  mustn't  either.  You  must  go 
to  sleep,  like  a good  baby.  Not  that  I 've  given  you  much 
chance  of  talking,  but  you  did  enough  of  that  when  you  were 
ill.  My  word ! I never  heard  anything  like  it, — just  as  if 
you  were  one  of  those  phonograph  things  and  wouldn’t  run 
down.' 

‘ Did  I talk  a lot  ? ' cried  Denis.  ‘ What  did  I say  ? ' 

‘ Oh,  nothing  dreadful ,'  said  Topsy,  4 like  most  people  do 
when  they  're  a little  bit  off  the  top.  Just  gibberish,  all 
night  long  ; in  the  day  you  were  pretty  quiet.  Streams  and 
streams  of  words  ! and  faster  than  I 've  ever  heard  any  one 
talk  in  my  life, — faster  than  that  Frenchwoman  when  I took 
her  umbrella  by  mistake  from  the  seat  at  Earl's  Court.  And 
then  you  kept  on  calling  out  some  one's  name  over  and  over 
again,  just  as  if  the  person  it  belonged  to  was  running  off 
with  all  your  money.  It  was  dreadful  to  hear  you.' 

Denis  raised  himself  on  his  elbow.  4 What  was  the  name  ? ' 
he  asked. 

She  looked  at  him,  smiling  broadly. 

4 I guess  you  know  as  well  as  I do,'  she  said.  4 And  I 
wouldn't  mind  betting  that  you  may  see  the  person  who  owns 
it  before  very  long.' 

A tinge  of  colour  crept  into  his  white  face.  4 What  do  you 
mean  ? ' he  said. 

‘ Only  that  I found  out  yesterday  who  she  was,'  Topsy 
answered.  4 I had  to  go  to  Mr.  Grimshaw’s  studio  in  the 
afternoon,  and  he  gave  me  a letter  to  post  when  I came  away. 
It  was  addressed  to  a Miss  Rosalind  Duroy,  somewhere  in 
Hampstead.  Then  I remembered  that  Mr.  Tellier  had  a cousin 
called  Duroy,  and  knowing  you  were  an  old  friend  of  his  I 
guessed  she  was  the  lady  you  kept  on  asking  for,  I 've  got 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


376 

a head  on  my  shoulders,  whatever  you  may  think.  So  I sent 
a letter  along  with  Mr.  Grimshaw’s.’ 

Denis  began  to  look  strangely  excited.  ‘ What  did  you 
say  in  the  letter  ? ’ he  demanded. 

* Not  much/  replied  Topsy,  4 only  that  you  were  dying  at 
this  address  and  had  mentioned  her  name  once  or  twice.  If 
that  doesn’t  bring  her  round  to-day  pretty  quick  you  ’d  better 
give  up  thinking  about  her.’  There  was  a note  of  petulance 
in  her  voice  as  she  said  this,  and  she  unfolded  a towel  with  a 
sharp  jerk.  ‘ Anyhow,  I ’ve  done  my  best/  she  added.  ‘ If 
she  wants  to  nurse  you  now,  she  can.  The  doctor  says  you  ’re 
out  of  danger.  All  you  want  is  feeding  up.’ 

This  last  observation  reminded  Denis  of  his  penniless  con- 
dition, and  he  began  to  wonder  how  he  should  pay  the  doctor 
and  restore  to  Topsy  all  the  money  which  she  must  have  spent 
on  his  behalf.  His  heart  sank,  and  he  felt  that,  after  all, 
many  difficulties  would  have  been  avoided  if  he  had  been 
allowed  to  remain  asleep  on  the  Embankment.  Then  he 
thought  of  Rosalind.  Would  she  come  to  see  him  ? And  if 
she  came,  would  Grimshaw  come  with  her  and  stand  between 
them  just  as  he  had  done  in  that  oft-reiterated  dream  ? It 
would  be  better,  far  better  if  she  did  not  come  ; yet  he  knew 
that  he  was  yearning  to  see  her,  to  hear  her  voice,  to  touch 
her  hand — once  more,  only  once  more.  When  he  became 
well  he  must  never  see  her  again. 

‘ I don’t  suppose  that  she  ’ll  come/  he  said. 

‘ Well,  if  she  doesn’t,’  said  Topsy  emphatically,  ‘ you  ’ll 
know  she  isn’t  worth  fussing  about.  One ’d  have  thought 
from  the  way  you  went  on  that  she ’d  treated  you  dreadful — 
making  you  moan  and  groan  and  toss  about  like  that ! I 
hope  she  won’t  come.  She  ’ll  only  send  your  temperature  up 
again/ 

4 But  you  wrote  to  ask  her  to  come  ! ’ said  Denis. 

‘ I didn’t  think  you ’d  take  a turn  for  the  better  so  quick,’ 
said  Topsy,  ‘ and  anyhow,  one  doesn’t  always  do  things 
because  one  likes  ’em.  I ’ve  a conscience  that ’s  the  plague 
of  my  life.  And  if  she  does  come,  I should  like  to  tell  her  what 
I think  of  her  for  driving  a mere  boy  like  you  to  distraction. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


377 

You  were  as  good  as  committing  suicide  when  I came  across 
you,  and  I soon  found  out  whose  fault  that  was.' 

Denis  smiled  faintly  at  this  display  of  Topsy’s  romantic 
imagination. 

‘ Mr.  Judkins’s/  he  suggested. 

‘ You  ’re  not  to  talk,’  said  Topsy.  ‘ I ’m  hard,’  she  con- 
tinued, ‘ as  hard  as  iron,  and  I think  people  that  go  moaning 
and  groaning  because  they  think  other  people  have  treated 
’em  badly  ought  to  be  well  smacked.  I ’ve  no  patience  with 
your  lackadaisical  sort.  If  I ’d  been  like  that,  where  do  you 
think  I ’d  be  now  ? You ’d  be  shocked  if  I told  you,  but  it ’d 
be  true.  Life ’s  a battle,  and  everybody  fights  for  himself. 
What ’s  the  good  of  maundering  about  some  one  else  all  the 
time  ? It  makes  one  as  weak  as  a cat.  Here  endeth  the 
gospel  according  to  Topsy,  otherwise  Miss  Cordelia  Brown. 
You  think  it  over,  Mr.  Yorke.’ 

Denis  was  thinking  something  else  over.  ‘ I wonder  if  she  ’ll 
come,’  he  said  slowly. 

'Well,  if  she  comes,  she  comes,  and  if  she  doesn’t,  she 
doesn’t,  so  what ’s  the  good  of  wondering  ? ’ said  Topsy 
crossly.  ‘ I dare  say  she  ’ll  think  it  isn’t  proper  to  come  and 
see  a young  man  who ’s  half  silly  over  her,  when  he ’s  lying  in 
bed  ; I dare  say  she  ’ll  turn  up  her  nose  at  me  because  I brought 
you  here  instead  of  taking  you  to  the  hospital.  But  she  can 
turn  it  up  till  she ’s  black  in  the  face  ; I shan’t  care  • I did  the 
right  thing,  for  once,  I know,  and  I ’ll  go  on  knowing  it  even 
if  she  thinks  I ’m  the  kind  of  creature  your  friend  with  the 
eyeglass  took  me  for.’ 

‘ Did  you  tell  Mr.  Grimshaw  that  I was  here  ? ’ he  asked. 

‘ What  do  you  take  me  for  ? ’ retorted  Topsy.  ‘ You  know 
what  he  is.  He ’d  have  told  every  one,  and  I should  never 
have  heard  the  last  of  it  from  the  other  models.  You  don’t 
catch  me  giving  myself  away  with  a pound  of  tea  ; but  with 
this  lady  it ’s  different.  I don’t  care  what  she  thinks  ; but  if 
she  don’t  come  and  see  you,  I know  what  I ’ll  think  of  her,  and 
I ’ll  go  and  tell  her  so.’ 

She  seemed  to  nurse  some  mysterious  resentment  against 
Rosalind.  ‘ And  all  the  same  I hope  she  won’t  come,’  she 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


378 

repeated ; * if  I ’d  known  how  quick  you  were  going  to  get 
better  ! I don’t  want  any  meddling  women  around  here  ; I 
like  to  keep  myself  to  myself.’ 

‘ Oh,  you  needn’t  be  afraid  that  she  ’ll  interfere,’  said 
Denis.  ‘ She ’s  not  that  kind  of  person.’ 

Topsy  was  silent  for  a moment,  then  she  turned  to  him  with 
the  queer  light  in  her  eyes  that  he  had  noticed  a short  time 
before. 

‘ That  ain’t  the  real  reason,’  she  said.  Her  London  accent 
became  more  marked,  but  she  spoke  quietly.  * The  real  reason 
is  that  I want  to  keep  you  to  myself.’  She  gave  an  odd,  quick 
laugh.  ‘ You  ’re  my  baby,  you  see,’  she  added,  as  she  turned 
away. 

At  that  moment  a bell  sounded  in  the  house. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


379 


XXXIX 

TOPSY  began  instantly  to  whirl  about  the  room  in  a 
manner  that  denoted  considerable  agitation.  ‘ Oh 
dear,  oh  dear  ! ’ she  cried.  ‘ Here  she  is,  and  I hadn’t  a notion 
she ’d  come  so  soon  ! And  you  ’ve  pulled  the  counterpane 
all  crooked  again,  Mr.  Yorke  ! It ’s  too  bad  of  you,  and  I 
meant  to  brush  your  hair  and  put  some  fresh  flowers  in  the 
vawses  ! The  room ’s  like  a dust-heap,  and  I can’t  ask  her  to 
wait  while  I put  it  tidy.’  She  flounced  about,  giving  a jerk 
here  and  a push  there.  ‘ For  goodness’  sake,’  she  cried, 
4 cover  yourself  up,  Mr.  Yorke,  and  don’t  let  her  see  you  ’re 
wearing  my  nightgown  ! Hide  the  toothbrush  behind  the 
medicine  bottles ; there  ! I ’ll  do  it,  you  stroke  your  hair  down 
and  lie  quiet.  Coming  at  this  hour  of  the  morning  ! I 
thought  she ’d  have  had  her  breakfast  in  bed  at  eleven.’ 

There  was  a knock  at  the  door,  and  Denis  began  to  tremble. 
But  the  head  which  appeared  belonged  to  the  deaf  old  land- 
lady. She  looked  at  Topsy,  and  said,  ‘ It ’s  two  lidies  as  ’ave 
come  to  see  ’im.’ 

‘ Two  ! ’ cried  Topsy,  still  flouncing  ; ‘ oh  dear,  oh  dear  ! 
You ’d  better  bring  ’em  up,  I suppose.  We  shall  have  all 
London  coming  round  next.’ 

Denis  heard  neither  the  announcement  nor  the  words  that 
greeted  it ; the  pulses  in  his  brain  had  resumed  their  infernal 
tattoo.  The  landlady  shook  her  head  regretfully. 

4 I can’t  ’ear  a blessed  word  you  say,’  she  announced. 

Topsy  went  close  to  her,  and  making  a megaphone  of  her 
hands,  cried  in  a voice  of  thunder,  4 Bring  them  upstairs.’ 

‘ There ’s  no  call  to  screech,’  said  the  landlady,  and  departed 
with  remarkable  dignity. 

Topsy  made  a wild  effort  to  alter  the  position  of  every  piece 
of  furniture  in  the  room.  ‘ It  looks  just  awful ! ’ she  cried, 
* and,  oh  lor  ! here  they  come  ! ’ She  opened  the  door. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


380 

There  was  a sound  of  steps  on  the  stairs,  but  Denis  could 
hear  nothing  but  the  thunderous  pulses  in  his  head.  He  turned 
his  eyes  towards  the  doorway,  where  Topsy  stood  erect  and 
grim,  and  saw  the  landlady  turning  towards  a female  figure 
which  ascended.  Then  he  felt  a sickening  thrill  of  disappoint- 
ment, for  the  figure  was  that  of  Miss  Amory.  So  Rosalind  had 
not  troubled  to  come  : she  had  merely  sent  a substitute.  How 
unlike  her  ! But,  of  course,  everything  that  she  did  now  was 
unlike  her — unlike  the  ideal  that  he  had  cherished  for  so  many 
foolish  years.  It  was  better,  after  all,  that  she  should  keep 
away. 

Miss  Amory  advanced  in  the  tentative  manner  that  is 
customary  with  visitors  to  a sickroom,  and  sat  down  in  a chair 
beside  his  bed.  She  was  as  charming  as  usual ; reproached 
him  because  he  had  not  let  them  know  that  he  was  ill,  rejoiced 
that  he  was  better,  and  talked  to  Topsy,  who  responded  with 
monosyllables,  in  her  most  delightful  manner.  Denis  scarcely 
spoke  ; at  last  he  interrupted  Miss  Amory  in  the  middle  of  one 
of  her  remarks  to  Topsy.  ‘ Where  's  Rosalind  ? ' he  demanded 
curtly. 

Miss  Amory  turned  to  him.  ‘ She 's  downstairs/  she 
answered.  ‘ We  thought  that  we  would  come  upon  you  in 
single  spies,  not  in  battalions.  Would  you  like  to  see  her 
now  ? Whilst  you  're  talking  to  her  I mean  to  go  into  the 
next  room  and  discuss  your  body  and  soul  with  Miss  Brown. 
I see  that  he 's  a very  lucky  young  man  to  have  had  you  for  a 
nurse,  Miss  Brown,  and  I want  to  hear  all  about  it.' 

Topsy  appeared  to  be  somewhat  mollified  by  Miss  Amory’s 
appreciation.  4 I 'll  go  and  tell  her,'  she  said,  and  went  out. 
Denis  instantly  began  to  feel  that  he  would  rather  endure 
frightful  torments  than  be  left  alone  with  Rosalind.  The 
disappointment  which  had  stabbed  him  when  he  imagined  that 
she  had  not  come  was  nothing  compared  with  this  new  and 
bewildering  nervous  pain.  She  would  be  certain  to  say  some- 
thing which  he  would  recognise  as  insincere,  as  unworthy  of 
his  ancient  ideal ; and  as  for  himself,  all  his  mental  balance 
was  upset ; he  felt  weak,  and  bitter  ; if  he  spoke  at  all  he 
would  blurt  out  something  which  would  reveal  that  he  knew 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


38i 

how  she  had  changed.  But  when  she  entered  the  room  he 
forgot  everything  except  that  she  was  beautiful  and  desirable 
beyond  all  things  mortal. 

To  her,  as  he  lay  there  looking  so  white  and  weak,  he  was 
again  the  forlorn,  gentle  little  boy  that  she  had  known  at 
Parnasse.  She  came  towards  him  with  a soft  cry,  and  kneeling 
by  the  bedside,  took  his  hand  in  hers,  then  stroked  the  dark 
hair  that  had  grown  so  long  during  his  illness.  The  grave 
heavenliness  of  her  eyes  became  radiant ; she  smiled  at  him  as 
a mother  smiles  at  her  child  when  they  are  alone,  and  when  she 
spoke  her  voice  was  soothing  as  the  whisper  of  leaves  in 
summer.  Miss  Amory  and  Topsy  had  retired  to  the  other 
room  ; he  was  alone  with  her,  alone  for  the  last  time.  He 
could  not  speak  ; he  realised  slowly  that  he  ought  to  tell  her 
the  truth — realised  that  she  did  not  know  that  he  was  better, 
out  of  danger,  free  from  physical  pain,  or  she  would  not  have 
knelt  by  his  bedside  in  that  way,  and  looked  into  his  eyes  in 
that  way,  and  touched  his  hair  with  those  pale  and  slender 
hands.  But  he  could  say  nothing,  his  throat  was  burning 
with  terrible  fire,  the  tears  smarted  in  his  eyes,  and,  after  all, 
it  was  the  last  time,  the  last  time. 

f Mon  pauvre  petit  Denis  ! And  you  waited  until  yesterday 
before  you  let  us  know  ! 5 

It  was  still  the  voice  of  a mother  speaking  to  a son,  of  a 
woman  speaking  to  a mere  boy.  And  when  he  looked  into  her 
eyes  he  knew  that  some  miracle  had  happened  which  had  lifted 
her  far  beyond  girlhood,  that  though  she  was  nearly  a year 
younger  than  himself,  she  had  overtaken,  him,  outdistanced 
him,  left  him  as  far  behind  as  Atalanta  might  have  left  any 
raw  lad  who  had  dared  to  match  himself  against  her  swiftness. 
Her  smiles,  her  tender  words,  her  lovely  attitude,  were  all 
signs  of  this  strange  victory  ; to  her  he  was  the  boy  who  had 
known  and  worshipped  her  father  ; the  old  friend,  who  never 
would  be  really  old,  the  intimate  comrade  who  had  played  a 
certain  definite  part  in  her  life  and  could  be  relied  on  never  to 
play  any  other.  He  had  often  read  in  conventional  stories  of 
girls  who  promised  to  be  sisters  to  the  men  who  loved  them  ; 
the  tragic  irony  of  that  hackneyed  phrase  struck  him  sharply 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


382 

now.  He  and  Noel  were  her  brothers,  whilst  that  beast 

Grimshaw Even  as  he  looked  at  her  beauty  a wave  of 

dull  resentment  seemed  to  surge  through  his  brain.  If  she 
had  been  aware  that  he  knew  all  she  would  not  have  come  to 
see  him  ; in  a sense,  she  was  deceiving  him,  playing  a part, 
pretending  to  be  the  lost,  the  dead  Rosalind.  Yet  how  far 
more  wonderful  was  the  new  Rosalind,  with  the  strange 
radiance  in  her  eyes,  and  the  strange  power  of  suggesting  that 
she  had  grown  wise  with  some  supernatural  wisdom,  that  she 
had  mastered  the  secret  of  life  ? Oh,  it  couldn't,  it  couldn't 
be  Grimshaw  who  had  awakened  her  ! It  had  been  going  on 
in  France,  this  awakening  ; he  had  been  almost  blind  to  it  at 
the  time,  but  he  saw  it  all  clearly  in  retrospect. 

‘ You  should  have  let  us  know  at  once.  I 'm  furiously 
jealous  of  the  girl  who  has  nursed  you.' 

But  for  the  absolute  candour  of  her  eyes  he  would  have 
sworn  that  the  words  were  heartless  mockery.  She  sat  on 
the  chair  by  his  bedside,  and  he  told  her — again  he  heard  that 
hateful  gramophone  voice — how  Topsy  had  rescued  him  from 
the  Embankment.  When  once  it  had  begun,  the  gramophone 
voice  seemed  as  if  it  would  go  on  for  ever.  It  blurted  out  the 
whole  story  ; the  suite,  and  the  aspect  of  pallid  eggs,  and 
the  sickening  behaviour  of  Mr.  Judkins.  The  last  item  in 
this  doleful  catalogue  made  Rosalind  turn  a face  dark  with 
reproachfulness  towards  him. 

4 O Denis  ! ' she  said.  ‘ Why  didn't  you  write,  or  come 
to  see  me  ? How  like  a boy,  and  how  ridiculous,  to  go  on 
starving  when  your  oldest  friend  was  in  London.  I suppose 
you  thought  that  I hadn't  come  back,  but  you  might  have 
made  sure  about  it.' 

Denis  turned  his  eyes  from  hers.  ‘ I knew  that  you  were 
back,'  he  said  sullenly. 

‘ And  you  were  too  proud.  Oh  ! it  was  unkind,  unfriendly  ! 
We  heard  nothing  about  you  ; Mr.  Grimshaw  called  at  your 
rooms,  and  the  landlord  said  you  had  gone  into  the  country 
for  two  or  three  weeks.  I think  I should  like  to  meet  that 
landlord.  Why  do  you  look  like  that  ? ' She  stared  at  him 
for  a moment,  then  cried,  ‘ Denis  ! ' He  caught  her  hand  and 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


383 

pressed  it  to  his  lips — the  little  pale  hand  that  Grimshaw  had 
kissed.  She  was  so  amazed  by  his  face  that  for  a moment  she 
did  not  draw  her  hand  away. 

‘ That ’s  why  I didn’t  come,’  he  said  wearily,  ‘ you  know 
now.’  He  closed  his  eyes.  He  had  been  a fool  once  more, 
but,  at  any  rate,  she  knew.  It  was  all  over.  He  stretched 
himself  out  with  a strange  sense  of  relief.  From  the  next 
room  came  the  voices  of  Miss  Amory  and  Topsy,  who  were 
engaged  in  a cheerful  controversy  concerning  the  management 
of  an  invalid.  A befuddled  fly  was  buzzing  in  the  sunshine 
of  the  window. 

When  he  reopened  his  eyes  he  saw  that  Rosalind  was  sitting 
in  exactly  the  same  position  as  when  he  had  closed  them  ; 
she  was  looking  at  him  clearly,  almost  keenly,  but  a glorious 
flood  of  crimson  had  spread  from  her  neck  to  her  brow.  Her 
lips  were  parted,  and  as  he  looked  at  her  she  spoke. 

‘ My  dear  old  Denis  ! ’ she  said  very  gently,  but  in  her 
usual  voice  ; ‘ it ’s  all  a mistake — you  and  I — it ’s  impossible  ! 
When  you  are  well  again  you  won’t  remember.  I never 

heard ’ Though  her  voice  was  steady  it  died  away 

abruptly.  Denis  forgot  all  about  Topsy’s  nightgown  and 
sat  up  with  alarming  suddenness. 

‘ It ’s  not  impossible,’  he  said,  ‘ it  has  happened.  I love 
you.  I always  have  done,  but  I didn’t  know  it — not  even  in 
France — until  the  other  day.  I know  I ’m  a cad  to  tell  you, 
because  I know  there ’s  some  one  else.  Don’t  look  at  me  like 
that ! I couldn’t  help  finding  out,  I swear  I couldn’t ; I 
was  in  St.  Paul’s  and  I saw  him — and  you.  Ah  ! can’t  you 
say  it  isn’t  true  ? You  can’t  really  care  for  him, — you  don’t 
know  him,  he ’s — oh  ! he ’s  everything  that  you  hate.  But  I 
saw  your  face — when  you  looked  at  him — that  day  in  St. 
Paul’s.  And  then  I knew  that  I loved  you,  that  I ’d  have 
burned  in  hell  for  a thousand  years  to  get  one  look  from  you 
like  that.’ 

She  turned  from  him  suddenly,  and  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands.  In  the  next  room  Topsy  and  Miss  Amory  con- 
tinued to  quack  harmoniously.  He  watched  her  for  a little 
while,  feeling  heartsick,  and  inwardly  calling  himself  all  the 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


384 

hard  names  in  the  language.  But  his  voice  continued  to 
speak  almost  in  spite  of  himself. 

' I’m  an  utter  brute/  he  said.  ‘ I know  you  'll  never  care 
about  me,  but  oh,  Rosalind  ! you  won’t  always  care  for  him, 
will  you  ? ’ 

She  dropped  her  hands  and  looked  at  him.  There  were 
tears  in  her  eyes,  but  that  strange  bewildering  radiance  shone 
out  again.  She  leant  towards  him. 

‘ Try  to  forgive  me,’  she  said.  ‘ I shall  care  always,  always.’ 

He  dropped  back  on  the  pillow  with  a gasp  that  sounded 
like  stifled  anger. 

‘ And  he ’s  married,’  he  murmured. 

She  did  not  seem  to  hear  him,  but  the  radiance  faded  from 
her  eyes  and  was  succeeded  by  an  expression  of  fear. 

‘ 0 Denis,  Denis  ! ’ she  said.  ‘ I believe  that  he ’s  dying.’ 

The  words  brought  him  no  comfort.  Even  Grimshaw’s 
death  would  make  no  difference  now,  he  knew.  It  was  too  late. 
And  of  course  Grimshaw  wasn’t  really  dying.  He  was  only 
drinking  too  much  whisky,  and  his  beastly  temper  made  him 
look  yellow. 

‘ Oh  no,’  he  said  curtly. 

The  fear  left  her  face.  ‘ He  won’t  die,’  she  said  with 
sudden  firmness.  Denis  closed  his  eyes  again.  She  could 
think  of  no  one  but  Grimshaw.  She  had  forgotten  already 
that  he  himself  loved  her  and  had  kissed  her  hand.  It  was 
absolutely  sickening.  He  felt  as  if  he  were  actually  as  young 
and  irresponsible  as  she  evidently  thought  him  to  be.  He 
lay  there  in  sullen  silence.  It  was  all  over  ; and  she  didn’t 
even  take  him  seriously.  Why  didn’t  those  garrulous  idiots 
in  the  other  room  come  back  ? 

Presently  she  spoke.  ‘ My  dear  little  Denis,’  she  said, 
* when  you  ’re  well  again  you  ’ll  find  that  everything  will  seem 
different,  and  some  day  you  ’ll  understand.  It  all  seems 
strange  to  you  now  ; but  some  day  you  ’ll  meet — the  right 
person,  and  then  you  ’ll  know,  and  you  ’ll  forgive  me.  It  ’ll 
be  like  a new  world  where  you  see  everything  clearly  instead 
of  groping  about  in  darkness  and  mistaking  shadows  for  real 
people/ 


THE  FIRST  ROUND  385 

To  Denis  her  words  seemed  deliberately  cruel.  ‘ How  do 
you  know  ? 1 he  asked,  almost  angrily. 

‘ I can't  help  knowing/  she  answered. 

Quack-quack  from  Miss  Amory  in  the  sitting-room.  He 
meditated  on  Rosalind's  reply,  which  seemed  to  him  quite 
meaningless.  As  if  he  didn't  know  himself  better  than  she 
knew  him  ! She  thought  him  a child.  But  certainly  at  that 
moment  he  felt  remarkably  childish.  What  was  this  strange 
special  knowledge  which  she  imagined  herself  to  possess  ? 

Quack- quack-quack  from  Topsy.  Would  they  never  come 
back  ? In  a few  moments  Rosalind  had  contrived  to  become 
impossibly  remote,  had  soared  far  above  him,  leaving  him  to 
feel  as  bewildered  as  a small  boy  at  a lecture  on  metaphysics. 
He  remembered  his  dream.  Reality  was  certainly  very  like 
it,  only  worse.  And  Rosalind  was  a year  younger  than  him- 
self ! All  power  of  insight  left  him  ; his  mind  seemed  to 
revolve  foolishly  round  crude  and  dreary  facts. 

‘ It 's  all  so  hopeless,'  he  said.  ‘ You  can't  ever  be  married.' 

As  soon  as  he  had  uttered  the  words  he  regretted  them. 
Even  now,  he  thought,  he  did  not  wish  to  hurt  her.  But 
apparently  she  did  not  hear  what  he  said,  or  she  thought  that 
his  point  of  view  was  utterly  unimportant.  At  least,  however, 
he  had  discovered  her  secret,  though  she  had  denied  that  he 
could  see  anything  clearly  ! 

‘ What  will  you  do  if  they  all  get  to  know  about  it  ? ' he 
asked. 

She  turned  swiftly  towards  him.  * What  do  you  mean  ? ' 
she  said. 

He  nodded  towards  the  half-open  door.  ‘ All  of  them — 
Miss  Amory ’ He  paused 

4 She  knows,'  said  Rosalind. 

‘ She  knows  ! ' he  echoed.  ‘ But  Noel — what  will  Noel 
think  about  it  ? ' 

‘ Noel  knows,'  she  said.  ‘ Denis,  do  you  think  I could  bear 
that  he  shouldn't  know  ? I thought  you  knew  too,  and  then 
I saw  that  you  didn't  understand.  But  you  will,  some  day.' 

This  was  the  final  blow.  That  Miss  Amory,  whom  Denis 
had  always  regarded  as  a highly  respectable  guardian,  should 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


386 

be  aware  of,  and  acquiesce  in,  this  lamentable  affair  ; that 
Noel,  who  adored  Rosalind,  should  calmly  allow  her  to  ruin 
her  life,  and  make  no  effort  to  save  her  from  the  snares  of 
Grimshaw, — it  was  incomprehensible,  it  was  like  some  horrible 
nightmare.  And  he  had  thought  that  he  knew  Noel  absolutely, 
that  he  could  prophesy  with  complete  certainty  his  method 
of  action  in  any  possible  circumstance  ! 

The  quacking  became  louder,  and  Rosalind  glanced  towards 
the  door. 

' They  're  coming  back,'  she  said.  Then  she  leant  towards 
him  and  spoke  in  a low  voice.  ‘ We  will  forget  all  this,'  she 
said  ; ‘ I know  you  'll  forget  it,  when  you  're  well.  And  now 
I want  you  to  do  me  a very  great  favour.  You  're  all  alone, 
and  there  is  some  one  who  ought  to  be  with  you  now,  some  one 
you  have  never  understood, — but  if  he  came  and  found  you 
lying  here  and  knew  how  ill  you  had  been,  you  would  under- 
stand him  at  last.  Denis,  has  he  heard  about  you  ? ' 

Denis  shook  his  head  gloomily. 

‘ He  wouldn't  care,’  he  said.  ‘ And  I don't  want  to  under- 
stand him.  I don't  want  to  understand  any  one.  It 's 
better  to  be  a fool  and  not  to  see  things  as  they  really  are. 
I shan't  write  to  him.  He 'd  think  I was  giving  in  just  because 
I hadn't  any  money.  He  said  I should  be  a failure,  and  I am.' 

She  bent  nearer  to  him.  ‘ Let  me  write  to  him,  Denis,' 
she  whispered.  But  a devil  entered  the  soul  of  Denis. 

* No,'  he  cried  violently,  ‘ no  one  shall  write  to  him  ! He 
never  writes  to  me.  He  wouldn't  care  if  I were  dead.'  He 
paused,  then  added,  ‘ You  can  write  to  him  on  one  condition.’ 

‘ What  is  it  ? ' 

‘ That  you  give  up  that  beast.' 

She  rose  quickly.  At  the  same  moment  Miss  Amory  and 
Topsy  re-entered  the  room. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


387 


XL 

THE  visitors  departed,  accompanied  by  the  beaming 
Topsy,  but  just  when  Denis  was  preparing  to  embark 
on  a long  voyage  of  gloomy  retrospect,  there  was  a knock  at  the 
door  and  Miss  Amory's  head  reappeared. 

4 Rosalind  wants  to  speak  to  Miss  Brown  for  a moment/  she 
said,  4 so  I came  back,  because  there 's  something  I want  to 
say  to  you.'  She  stood  by  the  bed,  looking  down  at  him  with 
a slightly  embarrassed  air.  Denis  contemplated  her  with 
sombre  eyes. 

4 Noel  Tellier  is  coming  back  next  week/  she  continued. 
4 He  will  be  able  to  arrange  things.  I 'd  better  speak  plainly  ; 
the  fact  is,  Miss  Brown  is  an  admirable  nurse  and  a most 
amusing  creature,  but  of  course  some  silly  people  would  think 
that  it  wasn't  at  all  proper  for  her  to  be  entertaining  a young 
man  in  her  own  rooms  in  this  way.  I just  give  you  this  hint 
for  her  sake,  you  know.  She  seems  to  be  a thoroughly 
respectable  girl,  and  probably  has  equally  respectable  friends 
with  smaller  minds.' 

Denis  glared  at  her. 

4 I didn’t  know  that  you  bothered  about  that  kind  of  thing/ 
he  said. 

Miss  Amory  seemed  slightly  puzzled. 

4 Oh ! I don't  care,’  she  replied,  4 but  it  may  make  a 
lot  of  difference  to  her  if  the  story  gets  about  among  her 
friends — spoil  her  chances  of  marrying,  you  know  ; and  lots 
of  people  don't  like  models  who  are  supposed  to  be — er — 
doubtful.' 

4 Mr.  Grimshaw,  for  instance,'  suggested  Denis.  Miss 
Amory  looked  at  him  for  a moment,  and  then  her  eyes  blinked 
rapidly. 

4 I 'm  afraid  you  think  I 'm  a nasty  interfering  old  woman,' 
she  said.  4 Don't  imagine  that  I 'm  shocked  ; I 've  seen 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


383 

rather  too  much  of  the  world.  I ’m  thinking  of  the  people 
who  are  always  so  virtuous  for  others/ 

‘ I expect  it  takes  a lot  to  shock  you/  said  Denis.  Miss 
Amory  stared  again,  and  he  added,  ‘ Would  you  mind  going 
away  ? I feel  as  if  I were  going  to  be  sick/ 

‘ Oh,  very  well/  said  Miss  Amory,  with  unclouded  good- 
humour.  ‘ I ’m  afraid  something  must  have  happened  to 
upset  you/  She  was  not  alluding,  however,  to  the  physical 
symptoms  of  which  he  had  hinted  the  existence.  ‘ Good-bye, 
Denis  ! we  ’ll  come  and  see  you  to-morrow/ 

‘ Oh  no,  thanks  ; I shall  be  all  right  now/  said  Denis,  and 
turned  over  in  bed.  Miss  Amory  said  a funny  French  word 
under  her  breath,  and  withdrew  to  join  Rosalind. 

A few  minutes  later  Topsy  returned.  She  was  radiant, 
glowing  with  superlative  praise  of  the  visitors. 

4 That  Miss  Duroy,  with  her  figure  ! What  a shame  she ’s 
a lady  and  can’t  be  a model ; she  puts  me  second  pretty  easy, 
and  she ’s  got  a face,  too,  which  I can’t  say  of  myself,  though 
she ’s  a bit  pale.  Well,  you ’ve  seen  her  at  last,  Mr.  Yorke, 
and  I hope  she ’s  made  you  feel  better.  That ’s  the  kind  of 
medicine  for  a nice  young  man  ! She  looked  as  if  she ’d  been 
crying  when  she  came  downstairs,  but  crying ’s  healthy, 
and  no  wonder  she  did  when  she  saw  how  you ’d  changed,  and 
knew  it  was  her  fault.  They  ’re  the  right  sort,  both  of  ’em. 
You ’d  never  think  they  were  artists  from  the  way  they  ’re 
dressed.’  Topsy ’s  flow  of  language  ceased  with  this  ambigu- 
ous compliment,  and  she  stared  at  Denis  with  startled  eyes. 
‘ How  tired  you  look  ! ’ she  said.  ‘ I oughtn’t  to  have  let  ’em 
stay  so  long  * I know  your  temperature ’s  gone  up.  You 
don’t  look  so  happy  either  • wasn’t  she  nice  to  you  ? If  I ’d 
only  known  ! I ’d  have  taught  her  how  to  behave/  She 
watched  him  with  an  oddly  anxious  face  as  she  spoke. 

He  turned  his  head  on  the  pillow.  ‘ You  oughtn’t  to  have 
written  that  letter,’  he  said  irritably. 

‘ Oh — ho  ! ’ said  Topsy.  ‘ Of  all  the  little  cats  ! Open 
your  mouth/  And  she  gagged  him  neatly  with  a clinical 
thermometer.  Denis  felt  inclined  to  grind  it  into  powder  and 
swallow  it.  * But  it ’s  just  as  well,  in  my  humble  opinion/ 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


389 

she  continued.  ' She  isn’t  your  sort.  I saw  it  at  once. 
You  ’re  too  gentle  for  her,  and  too  young.  She  wants  a great 
big  brute  of  a man  to  manage  her  ; some  one  with  heaps  of 
temper  and  as  strong  as  a horse, — some  one  noisy  and  great, 
— like  Mr.  Grimshaw,  for  instance.’ 

1 Burra-wurra,’  groaned  Denis,  nearly  swallowing  the 
thermometer. 

1 He ’s  her  kind,’  continued  the  pitiless  Topsy.  ‘ My  word, 
he  does  look  ill ! Lifting  the  elbow,  I expect.  What  a pity, 
when  he  can  draw  like  he  does  ; there  isn’t  an  artist  in  Chelsea 
who ’s  fit  to  clean  his  palette  for  him,  not  even  the  old  figure- 
of-fun  with  the  flat-brimmed  hat  and  the  eyeglass,  though  his 
style ’s  different,  of  course.  And  as  she  won’t  have  anything 
to  do  with  you,  you  take  my  advice  and  forget  all  about  her. 
It ’s  funny  how  easy  it  is  to  forget.  I remember  when  I was 
gone  to  death  on  a drummer-boy  in  the  Guards — I always 
do  like  quite  young  boys — and  he  went  off  with  a barmaid  at 
Victoria  Station,  and  I felt  like  drowning  myself,  but -’ 

‘ Hoo  hake  hiss  hamb  hing  ow/  gurgled  Denis.  She 
removed  the  thermometer,  and  looked  at  it  with  her  head  on 
one  side. 

‘ It ’s  gone  up,’  she  said.  * That  shows  that  she  isn’t 
good  for  you.  I oughtn’t  to  have  let  her  come.  But  I ’m 
glad  I did,  all  the  same.’ 

‘ Why  ? ’ asked  Denis  listlessly. 

‘ Because  now  you  know  that  she  don’t  want  you,’  she 
answered,  ‘ and  because  I shall  have  you  all  to  myself.  I was 
scared  into  blue  fits  when  the  old  lady  began  to  talk.  I 
thought  she  was  going  to  turn  me  out  and  nurse  you  herself. 
She  ’ll  come  again,  but  I don’t  mind  her.  It ’s  the  other  one 
I ’m  afraid  of  ; she  makes  you  bad.  You  can’t  feed  up  with 
the  thought  of  her  sticking  in  your  throat.  But  she  won’t 
come  any  more,’ 

‘ How  do  you  know  ? ’ said  Denis. 

‘ I saw  it  in  her  face  when  she  went  downstairs.  “ England 
expects  every  woman  to  do  her  duty,  and  I ’ve  done  mine, 
but  Never  Again  ! ” That  was  the  signal  she  flew.  Did  you 
notice  the  line  of  her  back  when  she  walked,  Mr.  Yorke  ? But 


390 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


I oughtn't  to  ask  you  that.  You  must  go  to  sleep,  and  forget 
all  about  her,  like  a good  baby.' 

The  periods  of  depression  which  occur  during  convalescence 
are  probably  the  only  times  in  the  life  of  an  individual  when 
he  sees  himself  as  others  see  him,  and  therefore  suffers  a loss  of 
vitality.  Before  his  illness,  Denis  had  been  inclined  to  believe 
that  he  had  really  changed  from  an  insignificant  boy  to  quite 
a different  kind  of  person, — to  a man,  indeed,  with  consider- 
able knowledge  of  the  world  and  a certain  peculiar  importance 
on  that  planet.  His  small  successes  in  music,  and  the  friendli- 
ness of  the  artists  amongst  whom  he  lived,  had  contributed 
to  the  strengthening  of  this  belief  ; but  now,  as  he  lay  in  bed 
and  enjoyed  long  days  of  thought  that  was  interrupted  only 
by  Topsy's  demonstrations  with  beef-tea  and  the  clinical 
thermometer,  he  became  convinced  that  the  colour  of  his  life 
had  been  grey  and  not  roseate,  and  found  a mournful  occupa- 
tion in  obliterating  the  faint  vestiges  of  his  lost  illusions.  He 
had  been  happy,  it  was  true,  during  his  first  four  months  of 
healthy  toil  in  London,  but  that  was  merely  because  he  had 
lived  without  foresight  of  the  inevitable  end  ; any  one  with 
a little  sense  would  have  known  beforehand  that  it  was  too 
good  to  last,  that  Wallaby  would  eject  him  cursorily,  that  his 
musical  ability  was  the  most  limp  of  all  bruised  reeds  • that 
one  who  was  infirm  of  purpose,  unstable  as  water,  the  play- 
thing of  a hundred  moods,  had  no  chance  when  he  fought 
alone  against  the  world.  He  began  to  wonder — in  the  usual 
manner  of  artists  who  suffer  an  enforced  separation  from  their 
work — if  he  were  not,  after  all,  merely  a charlatan  ; the  spirit 
of  music  which  he  had  formerly  imagined  to  inhabit  his  soul 
had  surely  flown  away  for  ever,  leaving  him  with  about  as 
much  life  as  is  possessed  by  an  empty  chrysalis  attached  to  a 
withered  stick.  That  he,  the  writer  of  silly  little  accompani- 
ments to  tunes  which  he  did  not  even  invent,  should  have 
dared  to  attempt  a suite  for  full  orchestra  ! The  deplorable 
Judkins  could  light  his  pipe  with  that  work  of  art  if  he  wished  ; 
its  creator  regarded  it  with  the  affection  felt  by  Rousseau  for 
one  of  his  bastards. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


39i 


The  great  total  of  his  achievement  was  composed,  it  seemed, 
of  the  following  items  : he  had  lost  Rosalind,  he  had  lost  his 
art,  he  had  lost  his  employment,  and  he  had  lost  all  desire  to 
live. ' Incidentally  he  had  also  lost  his  father,  but  that  had 
happened  before  ; and  he  was  on  the  verge  of  losing  his  last 
shred  of  self-respect,  but  that  didn't  matter  when  once  one 
realised  that  self-respect  was  only  the  pompous  title  of  sense- 
less conceit.  His  father  was  justified  as  a prophet ; he  had 
failed,  failed  tragically,  yet  even  his  tragedy  was  not  noble  ; 
it  was  built  up  with  sordid  episodes,  such  as  the  Judkins 
affair ; it  did  not  possess  the  gloomy  magnificence  of  a great 
work  of  art,  but  was  an  essentially  squalid  piece  of  patchwork. 
Even  his  last  interview  with  Rosalind  had  none  of  the  dignity 
that  should  be  associated  with  immense  renunciation  : she  had 
not  even  believed  that  he  loved  her,  he  had  felt  like  a petulant 
child,  and  the  whole  scene  had  been  punctuated  by  the 
damnable  quacking  of  those  women  in  the  next  room.  Rosa- 
lind had  been  so  slightly  impressed  by  his  trouble  that  she  had 
been  able  to  exhort  him  to  see  his  father. 

Why  was  she  always  begging  him  to  do  that  ? It  was  only 
another  instance  of  her  recent  failure  in  kindness  and  common- 
sense.  Of  course  it  was  possible  that  she  feared  he  might  be 
dying,  and  knew  that  relatives  had  always  an  extraordinary 
passion  to  be  in  at  the  death.  Or  did  she  realise  that  he  was 
lonely,  hatefully  lonely, — oppressed  by  the  thought  of  the 
iron  indifference  of  this  great,  seething  London  that  hemmed 
him  in, — yearning  for  the  companionable  hills  and  the  peace 
of  quiet  valleys  where  every  tiny  landmark  was  a familiar 
friend  ? It  was  impossible  that  she  should  have  read  his  mind 
prophetically,  for  until  the  long  days  that  succeeded  their 
interview  he  had  hardly  thought  of  the  country.  Now, 
however,  the  haunting  memory  of  the  moor  and  the  hillside 
and  the  Roman  camp  returned  to  him — just  as  it  had  done  at 
school  when  he  had  tramped  the  quadrangle  on  windy  even- 
ings and  tried  to  imagine  that  the  great  gates  were  not  locked, 
that  he  was  still  free.  All  sorts  of  absurd,  long-forgotten 
episodes  in  his  boyhood  returned  to  his  mind — quaint  remarks 
of  gnarled  ancients  ; his  first  intimate  interview  with  a wasp  ; 


392 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


his  lessons  in  swimming  from  one  of  the  village  lads,  who 
threw  him  in  as  if  he  were  a dog,  whereby  he  swallowed  large 
quantities  of  a natural  salad  of  mud  and  duckweed  ; his  first 
experience  of  Italian  cortesia.  He  seemed  actually  to  breathe 
again  the  peculiar  atmosphere  which  he  had  grown  to  associate 
with  certain  hours  and  seasons — the  languid  air  of  late 
summer,  heavy  with  the  odour  of  burnt-up  grass  and  dusty 
hawthorns  ; or  the  comfortable  warmth  of  the  study  early  in 
the  winter  evening,  when  he  had  sat  by  the  fire  before  the 
lamps  were  lit,  and  watched  the  rooks  that  drifted  to  and  fro 
against  the  darkening  sky.  He  had  spent  many  days  at  the 
Red  House  in  complete  solitude,  for  his  father  was  often  out 
on  his  rounds  until  nightfall,  but  he  had  been  happy  ; he  had 
never  felt  anything  like  the  enervating  loneliness  that  had 
lately  distressed  him  in  London. 

Often,  when  he  had  been  haunted  at  school  by  memories  of 
home,  the  figure  of  Dr.  Yorke  had  played  its  part  in  various 
scenes,  but  it  had  usually  been  a blot  on  the  picture,  an 
intruder  who  had  no  real  connection  with  the  happier  details 
of  Denis's  life  in  the  country.  Latterly,  however,  Dr.  Yorke 
had  appeared  in  a new  aspect ; the  harsh  violence  that  he  had 
displayed  in  frequent  scenes  with  his  son  seemed  to  fade  from 
the  boy's  memory,  and  he  saw  his  father  as  he  had  been  in 
the  years  before  he  himself  went  to  school — an  anxious,  dic- 
tatorial person,  even  then,  but  with  a great  kindness  beneath 
his  anxiety,  and  a thrill  of  real  affection  in  his  most  pompous 
harangue.  For  the  first  time  Denis  remembered  various  acts 
of  his  father  which  had  seemed  in  the  old  days  to  be  quite 
meaningless,  but  now  appeared  at  last  in  their  true  kindly 
significance  • the  queer,  stilted  phrases  of  affection  that  he 
had  been  accustomed  to  use  became  suddenly  pathetic,  and 
even  his  moral  maxims  were  no  longer  absurd,  but  took  on  a 
kind  of  old-fashioned  charm.  Every  one  was  so  clever, 
nowadays  ; there  were  very  few  people  left  who  would  dare 
to  utter  mild  and  antiquated  truisms  ! They  might  prove 
that  the  person  who  spoke  them  was  more  addicted  to  catch- 
words than  to  real  observation,  but  even  this  failing  denoted 
a certain  simplicity  of  soul. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


393 


He  found  that  he  had  not  lost  the  gift  of  being  able  to 
become  oblivious  of  pain  when  he  was  lying  ill  by  resolutely 
marshalling  before  his  mental  eye  a long  pageant  of  con- 
secutive images  ; and  because  he  could  not  bear  to  think  of 
recent  events  he  reverted  as  much  as  possible  to  the  days  of 
his  childhood.  Parnasse,  which  had  formerly  dominated  all 
his  retrospective  powers,  had  become  a painful  memory  ; 
school-life  was  the  epoch  when  he  and  his  father  had  become 
more  and  more  estranged,  and  the  subsequent  year  was  one 
long  and  ghastly  exposure  of  his  own  crude  self-confidence 
and  blindness.  The  single  recent  event  that  insisted  on 
intruding  amid  his  thoughts  was  the  sudden  apparition  of 
Dr.  Yorke  near  the  National  Gallery  ; and  the  odd  conse- 
quence of  this  intrusion  was  that  the  father  who  figured  in 
the  scenes  of  his  childhood  invariably  wore  the  same  ex- 
pression as  the  face  in  the  hansom.  There  was  something 
indescribably  pathetic  in  this  fact ; it  depressed  him  intensely, 
but  at  least  it  was  better  to  endure  this  phantom  than  to  be 
confronted  with  the  glaring  spectre  of  one’s  own  complete, 
fatuous,  and  irremediable  failure. 

There  were  moments  when  he  felt  that  if  he  had  not  seen 
Rosalind  he  would  have  written  to  his  father.  He  did  not 
write  * he  had  been  a fool,  he  thought,  when  he  imagined 
himself  to  be  strong,  but  at  least  he  would  not  be  a coward 
now  that  he  was  weak  ; to  give  in,  to  accept  the  conditions 
which  he  had  spurned  with  such  a fine  disdain,  would  be  the 
last  ignominy.  Death  would  be  better  ; death  seemed  now 
the  only  solution. 

But  death  is  an  empty  word  on  the  lips  of  youth.  Denis 
became  stronger  each  day,  thanks  to  the  untiring  attention  of 
Topsy.  Miss  Amory  came  almost  every  afternoon  to  make 
inquiries,  and  came  alone.  The  irresponsible  Noel  returned 
from  his  wanderings  to  find  that  his  friend  was  able  to  sit  in 
a chair  by  the  fire  and  to  read  large  quantities  of  somewhat 
depressing  literature.  Noel  displayed  no  astonishment  at 
finding  Denis  in  Topsy’s  rooms,  but  loaded  himself  with 
execration  for  not  having  written. 

‘ You  might  have  starved,  you  young  idiot/  he  added  to 


394 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


Denis.  ‘ Why  on  earth  didn't  you  go  and  levy  toll  on  Grim- 
shaw  ? He 's  rich  beyond  the  dreams  of  Rothschild.  Rosa- 
lind told  me  how  you  ran  out  of  funds  ; I never  saw  her  look 
so  cut-up  before.  But  it 's  all  right  now ; I 've  sold  four 
pictures  in  Paris,  and  brought  back  a thousand  chinking 
clinking  francs.  Prepare  for  an  existence  of  Asiatic  luxury. 
I Ve  arranged  everything  ; there 's  a room  to  let  on  the  floor 
below  the  studio,  and  I Ve  given  Judkins  some  insight  into 
the  darker  side  of  the  English  language  and  moved  your 
piano.  I told  him  that  you  were  going  to  be  cremated 
to-morrow  and  that  he  would  be  tried  at  the  Old  Bailey  on 
Saturday  week.  Archibald  is  back  again  ; Wallaby  has  shot 
him  out,  and  he  has  burnt  his  frock-coat  and  begun  to  write  a 
symphony.  He  'll  come  and  see  you  to-morrow.  Topsy 's 
a good  old  thing.  She  won't  let  Amory  draw  her  legs,  though  ; 
says  she  doesn't  feel  up  to  the  journey  to  Hampstead.  Women 
are  strange  fowl,  my  Denis.' 

But  even  Noel  failed  to  charm  away  his  apathy,  and  he  felt 
absolutely  no  interest  in  his  own  future,  no  desire  to  return 
to  work.  There  was  nothing  in  his  soul  that  was  worthy  of 
expression  ; there  never  had  been  anything,  he  realised  now, 
except  the  feverish  and  sickly  dreams  of  a mind  that  had  been 
its  own  dupe.  He  had  no  ability  ; he  had  bungled  even  the 
easy  tasks  that  Wallaby  had  given  him.  When  Noel  brought 
the  suite  from  his  old  room  he  did  not  take  the  trouble  to  turn 
over  the  pages.  Art,  life  in  the  studio,  friendship — they  were 
all  ruined  pinnacles  of  the  cloud-castle  that  he  had  built.  He 
had  awakened  to  reality  at  last. 

On  the  following  day  little  Sandys  came  to  sit  with  him, 
and  told  him  funny  stories  about  his  tour  in  America,  a 
country  which  had  filled  his  simple  soul  with  wild  amazement. 

‘ They  talk  about  the  moral  end  of  music,'  he  said,  * all 
of  them — company-promoters,  and  society  women,  and  pilule- 
kings  ! It 's  extraordinary  ! As  if  music  had  even  had  a 
beginning  in  their  queer  country  ! Some  of  them  can  sing  ; 
they  preserve  their  vocal  chords  by  talking  through  their 
noses,  you  know  ; but,  generally  speaking,  they  have  no  sense 
of  music  whatsoever, — none,  none  ! ' 


THE  FIRST  ROUND  395 

‘ I think  I shall  go  and  live  there/  said  Denis.  ‘ I loathe 
music/ 

Little  Sandys  smiled  sympathetically. 

‘ I 've  felt  like  that  myself/  he  said,  ' after  influenza. 
It  won't  last ; the  predestinate  curse,  as  some  poet  calls  it, 
is  laid  upon  you  ; you  can't  evade  your  fate.  And  now  that 
you  're  out  of  the  clutches  of  that  old  bodysnatcher  I shall 
expect  great  things — very  great  things.'  He  laughed  softly. 
‘ I am  even  absurd  enough  to  be  expecting  that  I myself  shall 
contrive  to  do  something  not  utterly  bad.' 

‘ He  was  a beast  to  kick  you  out,'  said  Denis.  * Won't  it 
make  a lot  of  difference  ? ' 

Sandys  laughed  happily. 

‘ Oh  ! if  you  mean  merely  that ! ' he  said.  ‘ Of  course, 
I 've  no  money.  But  I have  often  been  in  that  condition 
before,  and  it  really  doesn't  matter.  It 's  not  essential. 
The  art  of  life  seems  to  consist  in  knowing  exactly  what  you 
want,  what  you  are  aiming  at,  and  then  making  everything 
else  become  as  unimportant  as  possible.  Even  food  can  be 
reduced  almost  to  the  level  of  a non-essential.  I know  that 
by  experience  ; and  the  sensations  that  you  search  for  amongst 
ordinary  pleasures  are  all  included  in  your  art,  your  ambition, 
whatever  it  is.' 

* All  except  one,'  said  Denis,  ‘ and  that 's  the  only  one  worth 
having.'  The  note  of  bitterness  in  his  voice  startled  Sandys. 

‘ What  do  you  mean  ? ' he  asked. 

‘ Love,'  said  Denis.  The  monosyllable  came  from  his  lips 
like  a single  thud  from  a drum.  Little  Sandys  stared  at  him. 

• ‘ Oh  ! ' he  cried,  with  an  odd  intonation.  He  was  silent 

for  a moment,  then  with  an  almost  comic  air  of  gravity  he 
said,  ‘Yes;  that's  different.'  He  sighed  deeply.  ‘ Very 
different,'  he  repeated  slowly.  He  sat  in  silence  for  a few 
moments,  then  spoke  in  his  most  precise  tone. 

‘ I believe,  Denis,'  he  said,  ‘ I really  believe  that  you  have 
hit  upon  a quite  remarkable  truth.' 

But  Denis  felt  that  he  was  discovering  remarkable  truths 
far  too  rapidly. 

Shortly  after  Sandys  had  departed  Topsy  returned  from 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


396 

Noel's  studio.  She  made  tea  for  Denis,  and  sat  in  a chair 
on  the  other  side  of  the  fire  watching  him  drink  it.  He 
noticed  that  she  was  less  talkative  than  usual,  but  concluded 
that  she  was  tired  with  a long  day  of  posing.  Once  or  twice 
he  looked  at  her  and  found  that  she  was  watching  him  intently. 

At  length  she  spoke.  * I saw  some  one  you  know  to-day,' 
she  said  ; ‘ a lady.'  Then  she  cried,  ‘ You  're  still  worrying 
over  that  girl, — I knew  you  were  ! Why  can't  you  drop  her 
just  as  she 's  dropped  you  ? It  makes  me  tired  to  see  you, 
you  look  as  drawn  and  as  grey-faced  as  an  old  man  of  ninety. 
But  it  wasn't  her  I saw  ; it  was  her  friend — that  Miss  Amory.' 

‘ That 's  why  she  hasn't  been  here  to-day,'  said  Denis. 

* That 's  why,'  echoed  Topsy.  There  was  a certain  grim- 
ness  in  her  accent.  She  rested  her  chin  on  her  fists  and  stared 
at  the  fire. 

‘ I 'm  not  certain,'  she  said,  after  a while,  ‘ if  I think  very 
much  of  your  Miss  Amory.  In  fact,  I think  I 'm  certain  that 
I don't.'  She  contemplated  the  embers  carefully. 

‘ I thought  you  liked  her,'  said  Denis,  as  Topsy  seemed  to 
be  waiting  for  him  to  speak. 

‘ Well,  I don’t,'  said  Topsy.  ‘ I 've  thought  her  over 
carefully,  and  I 've  come  to  the  conclusion  that  she 's  an 
interfering  old  cat.  Now  I suppose  you  're  going  to  give  me 
a lecture  on  manners,  Mr.  Yorke.' 

Denis  smiled. 

‘ What  has  she  said  to  you,  Topsy  ? ' he  asked.  ‘ You  're 
awfully  proud  and  touchy,  you  know.' 

Topsy  turned  towards  him,  and  then  averted  her  eyes. 

‘ I can’t  remember  what  she  said,'  she  answered.  ‘ All  I 
know  is,  she 's  an  interfering  old  cat,  and  she  hasn't  got  a 
nice  mind.  I very  nearly  told  her  so,  but  I just  pulled  up  in 
time.  As  it  was,  I said  one  or  two  things  that  made  Mr. 
Tellier  go  off  in  a hurry  into  that  room  where  he  washes 
himself  after  he 's  been  painting.  He  thought  the  hairpins 
were  going  to  fly,  I expect,  but  nothing  of  that  sort  happened.’ 
She  stared  at  the  fire  again,  and  then  said,  ‘ I do  remember 
now  what  she  said.  She  said,  sort  of  laughing  as  if  she 
mightn't  mean  it  but  she  did,  she  thought  it  wasn't  proper  for 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


397 


me  to  be  nursing  you  here  now  that  you  're  nearly  well.  So 
I upped  and  told  her  that  she  might  ask  any  one  in  Chelsea 
about  me  being  respectable,  and  Mr.  Tellier  said  I was  a 
mirror  of  virtue,  or  some  silliness  like  that,  and  that  he 
couldn't  paint  if  we  both  talked.  I just  said  one  or  two  things 
more,  and  then  he  chucked  down  his  brushes  and  went  off  to 
wash  himself,  and  Miss  Amory  slipped  away  whilst  I was 
changing  my  dress.'  She  paused,  and  looked  at  Denis  with 
a face  that  was  as  red  as  the  fire  she  had  been  contemplating. 

‘ Oh  ! aren't  people  idjuts  ! ' she  cried.  ‘ Just  as  if  you ' 

She  became  silent  abruptly. 

‘ People  are  fools,'  said  Denis. 

* Bom  idjuts  ! ' reiterated  Topsy.  She  waited  for  him  to 
speak  again,  but  when  he  continued  to  be  silent,  she  rose  and 
moved  the  ornaments  which  were  on  the  mantelpiece. 

‘ I call  it  disgusting,'  she  said  with  sudden  vehemence. 

‘ Oh,  rotten,'  said  Denis.  A large  brown  and  white  cowrie- 
shell  fell  with  a crash  into  the  fender  and  was  shivered  to 
atoms. 

‘ There,  now  ! ' she  cried  ; ‘ all  day  long  I 've  felt  full  of 
jumps,  as  if  I were  going  to  do  something  of  that  kind,  and  it 
belonged  to  my  brother,  the  one  I told  you  of,  who  died  of 
diabetes.'  She  did  not,  however,  seem  seriously  troubled  by 
the  catastrophe,  for  a moment  later  she  turned  to  Denis  and 
said,  ‘ All  the  same  I 've  thought  it  over,  and  I 'm  not  sure 
that  she  didn't  suggest  right  and  mean  wrong.  You  can  be 
left  at  nights  now,  so  I '11  go  and  sleep  at  my  married  sister's. 
She 's  got  a spare  bedroom,  and  I want  some  proper  sleep, 
'cos  the  couch  in  the  sitting-room 's  so  hard  I wake  up  black 
and  blue,  and  then  that  old  cat  '11  be  satisfied.  I '11  come 
round  first  thing  in  the  morning  and  give  you  your  breakfast, 
and  I '11  come  and  tuck  you  in  at  night.' 

‘ You 've  been  kindei  than  any  one  else  in  the  world  could 
be,'  said  Denis  warmly  \ 1 and  I hate  to  think  of  your  having 
slept  on  that  horrible  horsehair  thing  for  weeks.  Miss  Amory 
doesn't  matter,  but  all  the  same  you  '11  get  some  rest  at  your 
sister's.  I sleep  all  night  long  now.' 

Topsy  screwed  up  her  eyes  and  regarded  him. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


398 

‘ I won't  go  unless  you  want  me  to/  she  said. 

4 You 'd  much  better  go.' 

4 You  're  afraid  of  that  old  woman,  that 's  about  the  size  of 
it.' 

1 So  are  you.' 

4 Well,  what  else  is  there  to  be  afraid  of  ? ' 

She  rose  abruptly.  4 I 'd  better  go  to-night  if  I 'm  going 
at  all,'  she  said.  4 I '11  put  some  things  together  now.  I 'll 
come  in  at  eight  to-morrow  morning,  and  if  you 've  been  lonely 
and  woken  up  and  felt  frightened,  mind  you  tell  me.  You 
might  shout  till  doomsday  before  Mrs.  Joyce 'd  hear  you, 
and  if  she  did  she 'd  think  you  were  cats.  You  promise  to 
tell  me  ? ' 

4 All  right,'  said  Denis.  4 I promise  solemnly.' 

4 And  take  your  medicine  at  eleven  if  you  're  awake.  Oh 
dear  ! you  used  to  look  so  funny  when  you  were  half  asleep 
and  I made  you  take  it, — all  flushed  and  warm  and  drowsy  ! 
I shall  miss  that.' 

4 I shan't  miss  the  medicine,'  said  Denis  wickedly. 

So  Miss  Amory  had  her  way.  Topsy  departed  to  the  house 
of  her  sister,  and  Denis  slept  all  night  long  with  his  head  on 
the  frilled  pillowcase,  and  awoke  in  the  morning  feeling  as 
lonely  and  purposeless  as  if  he  were  the  last  man  on  a dying 
earth.  But  his  spirits  revived  when  Topsy  appeared  at  the 
door,  fresh  and  smiling,  with  a bunch  of  flowers  that  she  had 
bought  for  him  in  the  street.  Topsy  was  really  splendid,  he 
thought ; she  was  so  completely  natural,  so  magnificently 
obvious  ! She  seemed  to  stand,  a most  cheerful  guardian 
angel,  between  his  wounded  soul  and  the  cruel  monster  of 
depression  that  was  always  lurking  near  it  now,  eager  to  en- 
wind  it  with  innumerable  coils.  She  was  so  gay,  so  com- 
pletely untroubled  by  any  secret  yearning  or  regret ! If 
only  he  could  have  been  born  with  a temperament  as  happy 
and  as  careless  ! 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


399 


XLI 


WEEK  later  he  was  well  enough  to  go  for  an  hour’s 


walk  every  morning.  Happiness  did  not  return 
with  his  health,  but  the  heavy  languor  of  early  convalescence 
left  him  gradually,  and  at  length  he  began  to  desire  work,  not 
as  a pleasure  but  as  an  anodyne,  a preventive  of  gloomy 
thought.  He  felt  no  inclination  to  compose — his  soul  was 
too  empty  for  that — but  he  found  a certain  attraction  in 
planning  a long  and  arduous  course  of  labour  at  the  piano. 
Mechanical  drudgery  was  the  only  thing  left  which  would  bring 
him  oblivion. 

Topsy,  of  course,  was  a splendid  anodyne,  but  as  he  became 
stronger  her  visits  were  less  frequent ; she  appeared  only 
in  the  mornings  and  evenings,  alleging  that  the  various 
picture  exhibitions  in  the  spring  would  be  ruined  if  she  did 
not  give  herself  up  to  the  claims  of  her  profession.  There 
were  moments,  too,  when  her  immense  fund  of  good  spirits 
seemed  to  be  suffering  from  a previous  overdraft ; moments 
when  she  was  almost  snappish,  and  even  more  wonderful 
moments  when  she  was  silent.  This  development  in  her 
character  confirmed  Denis’s  new  theory  that  it  was  a mistake 
to  become  intimate  with  any  one  if  you  wished  to  keep  clear 
of  disappointment.  Topsy  had  behaved  nobly,  he  knew,  and 
it  was  his  duty  to  preserve  the  memory  of  her  kindness 
untarnished  by  leaving  her  abode  as  soon  as  he  could.  He 
asked  the  doctor  for  leave  to  migrate,  but  the  doctor  seemed 
doubtful. 

4 You  look  all  right,’  he  said  ; 4 but  your  temperature ’s 
above  normal  every  evening.  It ’s  annoying  ; if  Miss  Brown 
wasn’t  such  an  excellent  nurse  I should  suspect  her  of  reading 
the  thermometer  carelessly.  As  it  is,  I don’t  think  that 
you ’d  better  make  the  move  until  you  get  rid  of  this  bad 


400  THE  FIRST  ROUND 

habit.  I know  you  ’ll  begin  to  work  as  soon  as  you  get  back 
to  your  piano.’ 

Denis  was  slightly  annoyed,  and  when  Topsy  took  his 
temperature  that  evening  he  begged  her  to  read  the  ther- 
mometer with  great  care.  Topsy  stared  at  him,  and  became 
injured. 

‘ I s’pose  you  think  I don’t  know  how  it  works,’  she  said. 
‘ P’raps  you ’d  like  to  take  your  own  temperature  ? You  ’re 
sick  of  me  interfering,  I expect.’  And  when  Denis  pro- 
tested, she  thrust  the  thermometer  into  his  hand.  ‘ I don’t 
want  to  look  at  the  nasty  thing,’  she  said.  Denis  inspected 
it  solemnly,  and  found  that  his  temperature  was  exactly 
normal.  She  filled  up  a space  on  the  chart,  and  held  the 
paper  in  front  of  his  eyes. 

‘ Ninety-eight  two,’  she  said.  f And  now  I hope  you  ’re 
satisfied.’  Denis  replied  that  he  was. 

‘ I ’m  sure  I don’t  know  why,’  said  Topsy  crossly.  ‘ As  if 
a little  bit  of  mercury  in  a tube  was  worth  worrying  about ! 
What  does  it  matter  as  long  as  you  feel  all  right  ? You  ’re 
getting  fussy — a regular  old  bachelor ! ’ And  when  Denis 
explained  that  he  wanted  to  get  permission  to  go  to  his  new 
room  near  Noel’s  studio,  she  behaved  as  if  he  were  trying  to 
insult  her. 

‘ This  ain’t  good  enough  for  you,  I s’pose  ! ’ she  grumbled. 

‘ And  may  I ask  when  you  are  thinking  of  going  ? ’ 

‘ I ’m  afraid  I must  go  to-morrow  if  he  ’ll  let  me,’  Denis 
answered  mildly.  ‘ I ’m  quite  well,  and  I must  get  back  to 
work.’ 

Topsy  rattled  teacups  in  the  cupboard,  and  re-emerged  with 
a red  face. 

‘ Oh  ! you  can’t  go  to-morrow , Mr.  Yorke,’  she  said  in  an 
altered  voice.  ‘ You  ain’t  fit ; and  even  if  you  are,  you  might 
stay  a bit  longer.’ 

‘ Why  ? ’ asked  Denis,  somewhat  astonished. 

‘ Just  to  oblige  me,’  said  Topsy.  ‘ It ’s  fun,  you  being 
here.  It  gives  me  something  to  do.  It  keeps  old  Mrs. 
Joyce  on  the  trot,  and  that ’s  good  for  her  deafness.  You 
ain’t  to  think  of  going  to-morrow.’ 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


401 

* I ’m  afraid  I must/  said  Denis.  She  reverted  instantly 
to  her  former  manner. 

4 Oh,  very  well,  as  you  like/  she  said.  ‘ Here ’s  your 
chart.  There  *s  no  gratitude  in  this  world,  I can  see/  She 
prepared  his  tea  in  sullen  silence,  and  did  not  answer  when  he 
wished  her  good-night  at  her  departure.  Though  he  knew 
that  her  fits  of  temper  were  brief  as  showers  in  April,  he  felt 
annoyed  that  he  should  have  provoked  one  of  them  on  the 
last  evening  of  his  sojourn  in  her  room.  She  had  really  been 
inordinately  kind,  and  her  irritation  at  his  departure  was 
apparently  genuine.  But  it  was  time  for  him  to  go,  to  plunge 
again  into  the  noisy  waters  of  the  world,  for  she  was  spending 
money  on  his  behalf  which  he  was  bound  to  repay  as  soon  as 
possible. 

It  had  been  her  usual  custom  to  stay  with  him  in  the  evening 
until  about  eight  o’clock,  but  on  this  occasion  she  left  him 
soon  after  six,  and  he  found  the  innovation  unwelcome.  Her 
presence  was  more  inspiriting  now  than  that  of  Noel,  for  Denis 
felt  that  there  was  a flaw  in  the  fulness  of  his  intimacy  with 
the  latter  comrade.  If  Noel  knew  how  he  had  behaved 
when  Rosalind  visited  him  he  would  regard  him  as  a young  and 
impertinent  idiot ; and  he  himself  considered  that  Noel  had 
no  right  to  acquiesce  so  calmly  in  the  Grimshaw  affair.  One 
by  one  his  friends  were  giving  the  lie  to  his  old  conception  of 
them  ; first  Rosalind,  and  then  Noel  and  Miss  Amory.  He 
felt  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  meet  them  again  on  the  old 
frank  footing  ; there  would  always  be  a rift  between  them,  a 
chilling  shadow  that  divided  the  sunshine  of  their  intimacy. 
Even  his  friendships  were  failures  ; little  Sandys  and  Topsy 
were  the  only  persons  who  had  no  arriere  pens'ee , who  would 
meet  him  with  absolute  candour.  How  rapidly  the  immense 
horizon  of  his  life  seemed  to  contract  to  a narrow  ring  ! 

Virtue , how  frail  it  is/ 

Friendship , how  rare  ! 

Sandys  and  Topsy,  he  supposed,  would  follow  the  others  very 
soon.  Then  he  would  be  alone. 

It  was  strange,  he  thought,  that  the  chance  concourse  of 
2 c 


402 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


actual  events  should  make  loneliness  threaten  him  so  dismally 
at  the  very  moment  when  he  had  begun  to  realise  that  it  was 
a hateful  and  enervating  condition.  ‘ One  against  the  world 
will  always  win  ’ — what  a fool  he  had  been  to  believe  that ! 
Even  if  the  combatant  was  victorious,  according  to  his  own 
limited  conception  of  victory,  he  paid  a dreadful  price  for  the 
triumph.  He  began  to  think  of  all  the  lonely  persons  whom 
he  had  known  ; of  boys  at  school  who  were  pariahs,  of 
Gabriel  Searle,  who  had  an  armour-plated  manner,  and  lastly, 
of  his  father.  He  realised  at  length  the  meaning  of  the 
weariness  in  the  face  which  he  had  seen  for  a moment  outside 
the  National  Gallery ) his  father  was  bowed  beneath  the 
same  crushing,  ever-growing  burden  ; he  was  a lonely  old  man. 

Surely,  he  thought,  all  the  ugly  conclusions  of  life  came 
from  this  dreadful  premise  of  spiritual  isolation.  It  was  only 
partially  connected  with  actual  solitude  ; formerly,  he  had 
spent  weeks  alone  without  feeling  its  baneful  influence ; 
but  in  future,  he  knew,  he  would  be  one  of  its  fellowship  even 
though  he  was  living  with  Noel  amid  the  old  circumstances, 
and  seeing  a great  number  of  pleasant  persons  every  day. 
What  was  the  antidote  to  this  appalling  isolation  ? Was  it 
to  be  found  in  the  love  of  the  body,  added  to  the  love  of  the 
soul  ? Was  it  to  be  found  in  the  tie  of  blood  ? He  thought 
again  of  his  father.  Long  ago  love  had  existed  between  them 
— he  was  strangely  certain  of  that  * but  they  had  drifted  apart, 
separated  by  misunderstanding,  lack  of  mutual  tolerance. 
But  misunderstanding  was  the  result  of  mental  sloth  • they 
had  made  no  effort  to  save  this  priceless  tie  that  bound  them 
together.  And  now  they  stood  eternally  apart,  equal  failures, 
equally  lonely. 

He  remembered  again  the  strange  impulse  that  had  seized 
him.  It  seemed  to  prove  that  there  was  some  mysterious  bond 
between  father  and  son  that  no  amount  of  dissension  could 
avail  to  break.  But  it  was  useless  to  think  of  such  problems 
now  ? every  circumstance  of  their  lives  had  thrust  them 
further  apart,  and  though  even  yet  there  might  be  some 
obscure  physical  affinity  between  them,  it  was  too  late  to 
dream  that  the  old  sympathy  would  return.  Yet  was  the 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


403 

affinity  merely  physical  ? Lenwood’s  ridiculous  lines  re- 
turned to  his  memory : 

Mind  doesn't  mind  about  7natter  j 
Matter  doesn't  matter  to  mind. 

When  he  ran  down  the  steps,  was  he  not  impelled  by  some 
deep  craving  of  his  soul  ? Would  his  father,  if  their  eyes  had 
met,  have  realised  the  nature  of  the  instinct  that  urged  him  ? 
Would  that  expression  of  utter  weariness  have  vanished  ? 

Such  were  the  questions  that  preoccupied  him  for  more 
than  two  hours  as  he  sat  in  the  firelight.  It  was  significant, 
perhaps,  that  the  thought  of  Rosalind  no  longer  reigned 
supreme  in  his  soul,  though  it  never  occurred  to  him  that 
her  prophecy  was  on  the  road  to  fulfilment. 

At  eight  o’clock  the  deaf  landlady  brought  him  a slender 
meal.  He  managed,  after  some  difficulty,  to  inform  her  of  his 
intended  departure.  The  news  seemed  to  surprise  the  old 
woman. 

4 Well,  I never  did ! 9 she  exclaimed  fatuously,  and  added, 
4 She  never  told  me  nothing.’  She  withdrew,  wagging  her 
head  like  some  wise  and  ancient  fowl.  Denis  wondered  if 
deaf  people  were  horribly  lonely,  but  hadn’t  the  courage  to 
consult  her  on  the  point.  He  ate  his  bread  and  milk,  and  went 
to  bed.  His  brain  was  weary  with  his  long  course  of  profitless 
thought,  and  he  fell  asleep  almost  immediately. 

Two  hours  later  he  awoke  and  sat  up  in  bed,  with  a firm 
conviction  that  some  one  had  entered  the  room  and  touched 
his  face.  The  door  which  led  to  the  sitting-room  was  half 
open,  and  a light,  so  dim  that  it  might  have  been  thrown  by 
the  dying  fire,  was  reflected  on  the  panels.  At  first  he  thought 
that  the  landlady  had  come  to  prowl  about  the  room,  though 
he  knew  that  this  was  an  improbable  conjecture. 

4 Who ’s  there  ? ’ he  called. 

The  light  disappeared  instantly.  He  waited  for  a moment , 
listening  intently  \ then  he  slipped  out  of  bed  and  went  to 
the  door.  There  was  the  sound  of  a stifled  exclamation,  and 
then  a match  was  struck.  Topsy,  in  her  hat  and  cloak,  was 
standing  by  the  table. 


404 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


* Oh  ! I didn’t  mean  to  wake  you  up  ! 9 she  said,  almost  in 
a whisper.  ‘ You  generally  sleep  so  sound.  I forgot  some- 
thing and  came  back  to  fetch  it.  Get  into  bed,  Mr.  Yorke  ! 
You  ’ll  catch  your  death.  I ’m  just  going.’ 

‘ All  right,’  said  Denis,  feeling  sleepy.  ‘ Good-night, 
Topsy.’  He  groped  his  way  across  the  room  and  crept  into 
bed.  He  lay  for  some  time  listening  for  the  sound  of  Topsy’s 
departure,  but  though  there  was  absolute  silence  in  the  sitting- 
room,  she  was  apparently  lingering  there.  When  she  went, 
he  knew,  he  would  hear  the  creaking  of  the  stairs,  which  were 
divided  from  the  head  of  his  bed  by  a thin  partition.  He 
became  very  drowsy,  and  was  on  the  edge  of  sleep  when  he 
heard  a sound  in  the  room.  He  opened  his  eyes  and  saw 
Topsy  standing  by  the  door  with  a lighted  candle  in  her  hand. 

‘ Are  you  asleep  ? ’ she  asked.  The  candle-light  made  her 
smile  seem  like  a grimace  and  threw  deep  shadows  round  her 
eyes. 

‘ Almost,’  said  Denis,  feeling  annoyed  at  this  unseasonable 
visit ; * what ’s  the  matter  ? ’ 

‘ Nothing,’  said  Topsy.  ‘ I only  thought  I ’d  come  and  say 
good-night.’ 

' Good-night,’  Denis  returned.  But  Topsy  did  not  move. 

‘ Are  you  really  going  to-morrow  ? ’ she  demanded. 

Denis  lifted  his  head  from  the  pillow  and  stared  at  her 
reproachfully.  'Yes,’  he  answered. 

‘ H’m,’  said  Topsy.  She  was  silent  for  a while,  then  spoke 
rapidly.  ‘ I ’ve  come  really  to  tell  you  something,’  she 
said,  ‘ something  that  ’ll  make  you  hate  me,  I expect.  You 
know  that  horrid  old  chart — the  thing  I put  your  temperature 
on  for  the  doctor  to  see  ? ’ 

Denis  stared  at  her,  nodding  assent.  She  put  down  the 
candle  on  the  chest-of-drawers. 

‘ Well,’  she  continued,  4 1 ’ve  done  it  all  wrong.’  She 
gave  a queer  laugh.  ‘ I ’ve  done  it  all  wrong — every  night.’ 

‘ How  do  you  mean  ? ’ asked  Denis,  yawning. 

She  stared  at  him.  ' Don’t  you  see  what  I mean  ? ’ she 
cried.  ' I did  it  on  purpose  ; I made  it  seem  as  if  you ’d 
gone  up  every  evening  when  you  were  really  normal, — not 


THE  FIRST  ROUND  405 

enough  to  really  matter,  but  just  enough  to  show  you  weren't 
quite  well.  That 's  what  I did  ; so  there.' 

She  was  still  staring  at  him  with  a strange  expression, — 
an  expression — where  had  he  seen  it  before  ? His  drowsiness 
left  him  suddenly. 

4 What  on  earth  did  you  do  that  for  ? ' he  asked,  rather 
curtly.  4 You  knew  that  I wanted  him  to  let  me  go  back  to 
work.' 

Topsy  flung  out  her  arms  with  a queer  vehemence.  4 I 
did,  of  course  I did  ! ' she  said.  4 That 's  why  ! I don't  want 
you  to  go  back  to  work.  You  ain't  fit,  even  if  you  are  normal. 
They  're  regular  little  liars,  those  thermometers.  I know, 
because  I 've  tried  ; I took  my  own  temperature  the  other 
day,  and  then  I drank  a lot  of  hot  water  and  took  it  again,  and 
the  mercury  didn't  go  up  a scrap.  That  shows  you  what 
they  're  worth  ! ' She  stared  at  him  for  a moment,  and  then 
cried,  4 You  don't  believe  me  ! You  think  it  isn't  true  ! 
Well,  it  isn't ; that  wasn't  the  reason  a bit ! I want  you  to 
stay  because  I can't  bear  to  think  of  you  going,  because  even 
when  I 'm  posing  I think  of  nothing  but  you,  because  I love 
and  love  you  ! I 'm  mad,  I s'pose  ; you  can  kill  and  beat 
me  ; I shan’t  care  ! ' She  concluded  this  astounding  outburst 
by  sinking  on  her  knees  at  the  bedside.  Her  arms  stole  round 
Denis  and  clasped  him  tightly,  she  kissed  his  mouth,  his  fore- 
head, and  his  neck.  4 Ooh  ! ' she  gasped  hysterically.  4 I 
never  thought  that  I could  be  like  this  ! ' She  began  to  sob. 

4 If  any  one  had  told  me,  I 'd  never  have  believed  them  ! ' she 
cried. 

Her  lips  were  pressed  against  his  own,  he  could  feel  her  body 
straining  and  panting  against  his  heart ; and  then  it  seemed 
to  him  that  he  had  found  a solution  of  all  the  vague  trouble 
which  had  depressed  him  for  so  long.  His  brain  became 
extraordinarily  clear  and  his  heart  began  to  beat  heavily, 
furiously,  as  if  it  would  shatter  itself  to  fragments.  His  lips 
were  palsy-stricken,  and  all  his  body  trembled.  The  light 
of  the  candle  shone  through  her  hair,  so  that  he  seemed  to 
be  surrounded  with  a fiery  aureole. 

She  was  gasping  out  strange  disconnected  fragments  of 


406 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


speech.  ‘ I 'm  not  bad,  though  you  might  think  it ! Never 
before  ! My  dearest,  my  dearest ! Ever  since  that  day — 
in  the  studio — I wanted  you  ! And  the  last  few  days — as  if 
I 'd  drank  poison — I felt  all  over  fire  ! I 'm  mad,  I think  • 
I went  away  from  the  door  three  times,  I did  indeed  ! If  you 
hadn't  woken  up  ! ' She  drew  her  face  away  from  his  and 
looked  at  him,  stroking  his  hair.  ‘ Oh,  you  hate  me,  you  hate 
me  because  I 'm  not  her  ! * she  cried.  ‘ You  can  think  I 'm 
her  if  you  like  ! ' she  said,  with  a sob  ; ‘ you  can  kill  me  if  you 
hate  me.  I don't  want  to  live  after  this.  I 'm  bad,  now,  but 
I don't  care.' 

The  memory  of  his  first  sight  of  her  in  Noel's  studio  rose 
vividly  before  him.  Swift  fire  burnt  through  him,  and  he 
pressed  her  convulsively  to  his  breast.  She  cried  out  some- 
thing about  his  heart,  and  released  herself  suddenly  from 
his  arms. 

* I must  go,  I must  go,'  she  said  in  a muffled  voice.  She 
turned  and  kissed  him  swiftly. 

‘ Yes,  yes,  I must  go  ! ' she  repeated,  almost  eagerly,  and 
blew  out  the  candle.  The  darkness  seemed  to  rush  upon  him 
and  stifle  him.  He  could  hear  her  breathing  heavily,  painfully. 
The  sound  of  the  closing  door  was  followed  by  the  creaking  of 
the  stairs  as  she  descended  them. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


407 


XLII 

HE  rose  early  after  a sleepless  night,  and  packed  his 
books  and  clothes  in  the  bag  which  Noel  had  brought 
him.  Topsy  did  not  appear  at  her  accustopied  hour,  and  he 
felt  devoutly  thankful  for  her  absence.  His  nerves  were 
intensely  agitated  f his  hands  trembled  so  violently  that  he 
could  scarcely  pack  « and  in  spite  of  all  his  efforts  to  concen- 
trate his  thoughts  on  commonplace  affairs,  his  mind  insisted 
on  reconstructing  every  detail  in  the  scene  of  the  previous 
evening. 

He  saw  himself,  by  the  light  of  that  strange  event,  in  a 
new  and  dreadful  aspect.  When  the  girl  had  caught  him  in 
her  arms  and  kissed  him  it  was  not  love,  he  knew,  that  made 
his  senses  reel,  but  lust — the  yearning  to  possess  her  body 
fiercely,  cruelly,  for  an  hour — and  a longing  to  defy  the 
conventions  of  the  world  by  an  act  which  he  had  been  taught 
to  regard  as  sinful.  When  she  had  left  him  so  abruptly  he 
had  been  racked  with  the  most  acute  torments  of  desire  ; 
he  would  have  given  his  life  and  soul  to  be  able  to  recall  her. 
But  now,  in  the  disillusionising  light  of  morning,  the  madness 
which  had  transformed  him  seemed  shameful  and  disgusting 
— a nightmare  of  unclean  detail ; he  had  a brooding  conscious- 
ness of  bodily  and  spiritual  defilement,  and  felt  that  his  shame 
must  be  obvious  to  all  honest  eyes.  At  school,  he  remem- 
bered, he  had  shown  a nice  contempt  for  boys  who  were 
lewd  ; what  a prig  he  had  been  to  imagine  that  he  was 
superior  to  them  in  decency,  when  the  first  temptation  in  his 
life  had  resulted  in  a sinister  collapse  ! He  had  regarded 
himself  as  virtuous  because  the  women  of  the  street  inspired 
him  with  horror  ; on  one  occasion  he  had  rebuked  Noel  for 
saying  that  some  of  them  were  more  humane,  more  generous 
to  their  unhappy  sisters,  more  honest  in  their  own  strange 
way,  than  many  pompous  prelates,  ambitious  curates,  and 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


408 

devout  and  honourable  women  with  slanderous  tongues.  He 
had  regarded  them  with  harsh  contempt  as  representing  the 
last  vulgarity  of  vice,  yet  probably  many  of  them  had  sunk 
to  their  present  condition  through  loving  unwisely,  through 
the  brutality  of  some  drunkard,  through  the  crime  of  parents 
who  prostituted  them  when  they  were  children,  whereas  he 
himself  had  sunk  merely  through  a desire  to  gratify  a base 
physical  appetite.  He  did  not  care  for  Topsy ; he  liked 
her  well  enough  as  a friend,  and  of  course  she  had  been 
kind  ; but  now  he  hoped  that  he  would  never  see  her  again. 
How  could  he  meet  her,  knowing  that  the  thought  of  that 
evening  would  be  in  her  mind,  making  her  eyes  ashamed — or 
worse  ? How  could  he  meet  any  one  ? It  seemed  to  him 
that  his  old  personality  must  have  changed  to  one  which 
would  amaze  his  friends  ; yet  he  shrank  from  solitude,  for 
solitude  meant  evil  memories,  and  as  soon  as  he  had  packed 
his  bag  he  walked  to  the  studio,  feeling  like  a dark  and 
sinister  shadow  when  he  emerged  into  the  sunshine.  Noel  was 
out,  so  he  went  at  once  to  his  new  room. 

At  any  other  time  he  would  have  realised  that  it  was  a 
delightful  room,  large  and  bare  and  airy,  with  a big  window 
and  light  brown  walls.  A fire  was  laid  in  the  grate  ; he  lit  it, 
and  then  went  to  the  piano  and  played  a few  scales.  He  had 
expected  that  the  weeks  of  illness  would  have  left  his  fingers 
stiff,  but  they  did  not  seem  to  have  made  any  perceptible 
difference  to  his  technique.  His  spirits  revived  a little  as 
he  touched  the  keys,  and  after  he  had  played  some  exercises 
he  began  to  attempt  a Weber  sonata.  He  deliberately 
avoided  his  beloved  Beethoven  ; what  had  his  own  sullied 
and  miserable  temperament  in  common  with  the  mighty  soul 
of  supreme  art  ? A great  creator,  he  thought,  could  possibly 
by  sheer  force  of  genius  rise  superior  to  the  vices  of  his  life, 
but  an  interpreter  ought  to  be  pure,  and  serene, — a clean- 
souled  enthusiast,  not  a wretched  creature  of  moods  who  was 
liable  to  become  a wild  beast  at  any  moment.  He  felt  almost 
certain  that  his  talent  for  playing  great  music  had  been 
ruined  for  ever  by  the  event  of  the  previous  evening. 

Much  to  his  surprise,  however,  he  found  that  he  was 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


409 


playing  the  Weber  extremely  well,  and  when  it  was  ended  he 
passed  almost  involuntarily  to  the  Appassionata.  His  en- 
forced idleness  had  really  been  beneficial ; the  meaning  of 
the  whole  sonata  became  apparent  to  him  as  it  had  never  been 
before ; he  was  arrested  by  no  technical  difficulty,  and 
found  a keen  intellectual  pleasure  in  controlling  and  develop- 
ing the  intricate  sequence  of  noble  sound.  He  was  amazed 
and  delighted  by  his  own  powers  ; during  his  illness,  it  seemed, 
he  had  forgotten  that  he  could  play  well,  forgotten  too  that 
great  music  was  worth  everything  else  in  the  world.  When 
he  had  finished  the  Appassionata  he  attacked  the  Allegro  of 
the  Waldstein,  and  then  played  the  Andante  with  variations 
from  the  Funeral  March  sonata.  He  was  just  beginning  the 
Scherzo  of  the  same  work  when  he  felt  that  there  was  some 
one  in  the  room,  and  turned  to  behold  little  Sandys,  who  was 
listening  on  the  threshold. 

Sandys  nodded  and  smiled  and  clapped  his  hands. 

‘ Better,  better  ! ' he  cried.  ‘ You  're  waking  up,  you  're 
growing  virile  ! Illness — physical  and  mental  pain — it 's 
all  advantageous  for  the  artist  \ every  sensation  is  potted 
for  future  use.  Your  tendency  was  to  be  too  tranquil,  too 
equable.  You  must  cultivate  your  morbid  imagination,  you 
must  sweat  out  any  kind  of  torpor  by  violent  exercise.  You  're 
going  on  well.'  Sandys  smiled  and  blinked  whilst  he  uttered 
these  remarkable  and  incongruous  fragments  of  advice,  and 
rolled  a cigarette  in  his  long,  bony  fingers.  Denis  surveyed 
him  gloomily.  His  spirits  drooped  as  soon  as  he  ceased  to 
play. 

4 After  all,  I think  I 'm  sick  of  music,'  he  said. 

Sandys  laughed. 

4 Be  as  sick  of  it  as  you  like,  my  child,'  he  retorted,  ‘ as 
long  as  you  continue  to  play  like  that.  Being  sick  of  it  is 
all  a part  of  the  morbid  imagination.  It  all  helps.  Paderew- 
ski never  plays  so  well  as  when  he  looks  as  if  he  wanted  to 
leap  like  a panther  at  the  entire  audience  and  crunch  all  its 
bones.  Be  savage,  be  grumpy,  be  remorseful,  but  don't  be 
sleek  and  contented  like  me.  I 'm  going  to  lunch  with  you. 
Noel  said  he  would  be  back  at  one.'  He  inspected  the  pile  of 


4io 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


music  on  Denis's  table.  4 Have  you  got  the  Beethoven 
sonatas  for  fiddle-and-piano  ? ' he  demanded. 

4 No/  Denis  answered.  4 But  I 'll  write  you  one  like  them, 
only  better,  before  we  have  lunch.  Do  you  want  them  ? 
Miss  Duroy  has  got  them,  I think.' 

4 Hullo  ! ' said  Sandys.  4 I never  heard  you  call  her  that 
before.  I don’t  want  them,  I 've  got  them,  and  I 'm  going 
to  send  them  to  you.  I want  you  to  coil  yourself  round  the 
Kreutzer  like  a boa-constrictor,  and  to  swallow  it  wholesale. 
Don't  look  so  modest  \ I 've  talked  to  Landberger,  and  he 
says  that  of  course  you  'll  play  it  vilely,  but  not  so  vilely  as 
most  people.  I 'll  bring  my  fiddle  in  a day  or  two,  and  we  'll 
hammer  away  at  it  till  Noel  leaves  for  Australia  in  despair. 
Didn't  you  know  I could  play  the  fiddle  ? I was  in  the  orches- 
tra at  a music-hall  once,  and  fell  madly  in  love  with  Vesta 
Tilley,  and  she  never  knew.  That 's  settled,  isn't  it  ? I 'll 
bring  round  the  music  to-morrow.' 

4 Of  course  it 's  a splendid  idea,'  said  Denis,  4 but  I shall 
take  weeks  to  learn  the  Kreutzer,  and  much  as  I should  love 
to  play  it  with  you  whenever  you  feel  inclined,  I can’t  give 
up  all  my  work.  Besides,  I feel  certain  that  you  play  the 
violin  very  badly.  Don't  you  think  we  had  better  wait  until 
we  're  millionaires  ? ' 

4 O sordid  soul ! ' declaimed  Sandys.  4 O sordid  soul 
wrapped  in  a player's  hide  ! I may  inform  you  in  confidence 
that  I have  other  ends  in  view  • I am  not  asking  you  to  do  it 
for  my  sake.  But  anyhow,  the  Kreutzer  is  a work  that  you 
must  get  to  know,  and  some  of  the  other  sonatas,  too.  As 
to  my  intentions,  they  are  a dark  and  wonderful  secret.  But 
I rather  think  it  will  be  worth  your  while.' 

4 Oh  ! nothing 's  worth  while,'  said  Denis.  But  in  reality 
he  was  pleased  with  the  little  man's  suggestion.  The  old 
glamour  of  the  artist-life  was  beginning  to  reassert  itself  in 
his  soul ; at  least  there  would  be  refuge  from  sickly  thoughts 
in  hard,  healthy  work.  Very  soon  he  found  himself  actually 
embarked  on  an  argument  with  Sandys,  who  had  begun  to 
glance  through  the  score  of  the  suite.  How  quickly  one’s 
point  of  view  could  change  ! He  had  shrunk  from  re-entering 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


411 

life,  but  now  that  he  was  back  in  the  strenuous  world,  able  to 
work,  he  no  longer  felt  lonely,  and  already  the  distressing 
affair  of  the  previous  evening  seemed  less  vivid,  less  terrible. 
The  thought  of  it,  however,  recurred  at  intervals  like  a twinge 
of  pain. 

Sandys  fulfilled  his  promise  ; he  brought  his  violin  and  his 
music  to  Denis's  room,  and  during  several  weeks  they  devoted 
a couple  of  hours  each  day  to  hard  labour  at  the  sonatas. 
Sandys  was  quite  a respectable  performer,  though  his  playing 
was  more  remarkable  for  accuracy  than  for  passion.  He  was 
very  much  in  earnest,  and  hurled  shrill  invective  at  Denis 
when  anything  failed  to  satisfy  him.  Denis  bore  it  meekly, 
and  became  intensely  enthralled  by  the  work  ; his  strength 
had  returned,  and  he  was  gradually  becoming  less  harassed 
by  the  memory  of  the  irremediable  past.  Meanwhile  Noel, 
in  the  studio  near  them,  was  pouring  maledictions  on  the  soul 
of  Topsy,  who  had  vanished  utterly,  leaving  him  to  finish  his 
picture  as  best  he  might  without  the  valuable  assistance 
of  her  body.  Inquiry  at  her  lodging  elicited  the  cheerless 
information  that  she  had  gone  into  the  country  to  stay  with 
relatives,  leaving  no  address.  Noel  was  furious  at  her 
treachery,  and  scared  her  inefficient  substitute  into  tears  by 
devoting,  solemnly,  and  with  excessively  euphuistic  phrases, 
the  whole  race  of  models  to  eternal  and  poignant  perdition  ; 
but  Denis  was  heartily  thankful  for  her  departure.  He 
discovered  that  Noel  had  insisted  on  paying  all  the  expenses 
which  she  had  incurred  during  his  own  illness. 

It  was  imperative  that  he  should  make  some  money,  and  he 
held  a solemn  financial  consultation  with  Sandys.  Although 
the  little  man  was  extremely  poor,  he  never  seemed  to  have  any 
difficulty  in  finding  work  for  others,  and  very  soon  he  con- 
^trived  to  obtain  several  engagements  for  Denis  as  an  ac- 
companist. Denis  accepted  them  eagerly,  for  he  hated  to 
be  living  at  Noel's  expense  ; then  it  occurred  to  him  that 
Sandys  was  actually  giving  away  his  scanty  means  of  liveli- 
hood, and  protested  against  this  noble  self-sacrifice,  with  the 
result  that  Sandys  became  almost  angry,  and  stuttered. 


412 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


' D-don't  be  a b-blasted  young  fool ! ' he  said.  ‘ Do  the 
work  you  get,  and  don't  worry  about  other  people.  S-struggle- 
for-lifers  can't  be  altruistic.' 

‘ But  that 's  just  what  you  are  ! ' cried  Denis.  ‘ You  ought 
to  be  playing  these  accompaniments  yourself.  I can't  accept 
them  ; I should  feel  as  if  I had  stolen  your  boots.  You  're 
too  magnanimous  for  this  sordid  age.' 

Sandys  smiled  again. 

* He  that  steals  my  boots  steals  trash,'  he  said,  waving 
an  ancient  brown-leather  shoe  in  the  manner  of  a danseuse. 
‘ Don't  be  an  ass,  Denis  ; I hate  accompanying  ; it  gives  me 
spasms.  It 's  vulgar.  And  you  do  it  much  better  than  I do. 
The  silly  public  shall  have  the  best,  though  I go  barefoot. 
Don't  you  try  to  put  them  off  with  second-rate  Sandys  when 
they  can  have  first-rate  Denis,  in  a comparatively  recent 
dress-suit.  I burst  the  seams  of  mine  when  I played  Liszt 
after  drinking  a Manhattan  cocktail  in  Buffalo,  Pa.  And 
I 'm  writing  a fugue  that  is  lovely  beyond  the  dreams  of  the 
late  Johann  Sebastian.  It  melteth  my  vitals.  Let  me  alone, 
won't  you  ? ' He  refused  obstinately  to  play  the  accompani- 
ments. ‘ If  you  don't  do  them,  some  other  pifHLer  will,'  he 
explained  politely.  ‘ I shan’t.' 

Denis  did  not  go  to  Hampstead,  and  when  Rosalind  and 
Miss  Amory  came  to  see  Noel's  picture  he  retired  to  the  fast- 
nesses of  the  South  Kensington  Museum,  where  he  meditated 
over  ancient  instruments  of  music  and  endured  many  pangs  of 
self-contempt.  He  could  never  see  her  again,  he  felt,  after 
all  that  had  happened ; he  was  sullied  and  detestable,  and 
would  not  dare  to  meet  her  eyes.  No  wonder  she  had  not 
cared  for  him  ! Yet  she  cared  for  Grimshaw,  who  was  in 
all  probability  almost  as  unworthy  as  himself.  A woman's 
mind  was  as  dark  and  labyrinthine  as  the  bewildering  interior 
of  the  Museum. 

Noel  rebuked  him  for  shunning  the  visitors,  and  Denis  lied 
feebly. 

* I daren't  face  Miss  Amory,'  he  explained.  ‘ I was  awfully 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


413 

nasty  to  her  when  she  came  to  see  me.  I was  in  a very  bad 
temper,  and  she  talked  rot.' 

Noel  looked  at  him. 

‘ Did  she  talk  about  Topsy  and  respectability  ? ’ he  asked. 

* Yes/  said  Denis,  and  blushed  to  intense  crimson,  so  that 
Noel  laughed. 

4 Topsy  told  me/  he  said.  * Silly  woman,  putting  things 
into  people’s  heads  which  wouldn’t  ever  have  entered  them  ! 
That  kind  of  lunacy  always  makes  me  want  to  be  wicked. 
But  never  mind  old  Amory  ; she  has  forgotten  what  you 
said,  I expect,  or  thought  you  had  tremendous  deliriums,  or 
something.  Rosalind  wants  to  see  you  ; she  was  awfully  sick 
because  you  weren’t  here  to-day.’ 

So  Rosalind  also  was  an  impostor.  He  tried  to  forget  her 
by  working  more  fiercely  than  ever,  and  persisted  in  his 
refusal  to  go  to  Hampstead.  It  is  probable  that  Noel  realised 
that  there  was  a more  serious  reason  for  his  obstinacy  than 
the  one  alleged,  but  he  asked  no  further  questions.  Sandys 
went  to  Hampstead  and  returned,  as  usual,  shyly  ecstatic  with 
praise  of  Rosalind.  He  appeared  to  have  no  suspicion  of  the 
Grimshaw  affair.  ' If  we  could  put  her  into  music,  Denis  ! ’ 
he  would  cry.  ‘ She ’s  a symphony,  a rhapsody  ; anything 
you  like  ! You  must  write  it.’  Denis  was  only  inclined  to 
compose  a dirge.  Much  as  he  loved  Sandys,  there  were 
moments  when  he  felt  as  if  he  could  cheerfully  delete  him. 

His  royalties,  which  had  been  so  carefully  retained  by 
Mr.  Wallaby,  arrived  in  December,  and  he  was  able  to  repay 
Noel,  who  protested  wildly  but  in  vain,  and  to  live  in  a state 
of  comparative  affluence.  They  celebrated  the  occasion  by 
giving  a musical  evening  in  the  studio  on  Christmas  Day  ; 
Sandys,  of  course,  was  a guest,  and  brought  the  great  Dam- 
boise,  who  was  immensely  cheerful,  and  made  heavenly  music 
on  his  violin.  No  women  were  present ; Rosalind  and  Miss 
Amory  had  gone  to  the  country  home  of  the  latter,  and  Denis 
uttered  thanks  to  the  gods  for  this  deliverance.  Grimshaw 
came  very  late  ; he  was  wizened, — looked  like  a sick  serpent, 
Denis  thought.  The  mystical  Wilson  and  several  painters 


414 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


from  adjacent  studios  completed  the  assembly.  No  one  wore 
dress-clothes  and  every  one  talked  loudly,  and  the  air  was  soon 
thick  with  the  smoke  of  many  pipes  and  with  the  strange 
vapours  which  ascended  from  a huge  bowl  of  punch  that  Noel 
had  brewed.  Damboise  played;  Denis  played;  Noel  sang,  and 
also,  I regret  to  say,  recited  Tennyson's  Oriana , substituting 
a very  vulgar  phrase  for  the  reiterated  name  of  its  heroine, 
and  thereby  convulsing  the  company  ; little  Sandys  played, 
and  Wilson  could  not  be  restrained  from  declaiming  a mystical 
poem  about  Fand  and  the  Magi.  Grimshaw,  even,  contributed 
to  the  entertainment  by  sketching  an  immense  portrait  of 
Damboise,  a masterly  piece  of  work.  The  great  musician 
talked  to  Denis  in  the  course  of  the  evening,  but  not  about 
music  ; he  narrated  innumerable  absurd  stories  connected 
with  his  tour  in  America  ; how  the  custom-house  authorities 
had  received  his  pet  wolf,  and  how,  when  an  army  of  women 
had  stormed  the  platform  after  one  of  his  recitals  with  the 
usual  intention,  he  had  brandished  his  violin  and  threatened 
to  break  it  on  the  head  of  the  first  who  approached  him  } 

* and  you  know,  my  dears,  it  is  a Stradivarius  that  belonged 
to  Ludwig  of  Bavaria.'  Even  this  threat,  Damboise  affirmed, 
had  not  checked  them,  and  when  he  reached  the  emergency 
exit  his  coat  had  been  torn  from  his  back,  and  his  forehead 
was  bleeding  from  the  impact  of  a diamond  tiara.  ‘ My  own 
wife,'  he  said,  ‘ was  the  only  woman  who  behaved  properly 
in  all  that  immense  place.  She  left  the  room  before  the  first 
half  of  the  recital  was  finished.' 

Denis  found  that  he  was  as  amusing  as  he  had  seemed  to 
be  on  the  night  when  he  had  watched  him  in  the  restaurant. 
He  was  quite  unaffected  and  boyish,  and  evidently  enjoyed 
life  enormously.  His  esteem  for  Sandys  did  not  prevent  him 
from  shouting  with  laughter  when  he  discovered  that  the  little 
man  had  been  working  at  the  violin  part  of  the  Kreutzer. 

* On  the  piano  he  is  a marvel — a lion  ! ' he  cried  to  Denis,  his 
great  chest  heaving  like  an  ocean  ; ‘ but  on  the  violin  he 
makes  noises  like  a mouse — tweek-tweek  ! ' Sandys  pre- 
tended to  be  highly  indignant,  and  danced  up  and  down  in 
front  of  the  giant,  shaking  his  fists.  ‘ You  jolly  well  wait  till 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


4i5 


you  hear  it ! ' he  said.  * It  fairly  cuts  you  out.  Oh  ! this 
professional  jealousy  ! ' Damboise  patted  his  head.  4 Let 
us  hear  it/  he  said,  4 let  us  hear  the  mouse  squeak.  Begin  it 
before  that  fellow  can  read  any  more  of  his  religious  poetry/ 

Sandys  became  serious  very  suddenly.  4 Ah  ! if  you  would 
play  it  1 ' he  said.  But  Damboise  refused  firmly  ; he  had 
played  enough  ; he  was  tired  ; his  brain  was  on  fire  with 
Noel's  deadly  potion.  Sandys  glanced  at  Denis.  4 How  do 
you  feel  ? ' he  asked.  4 Shall  we  have  a shot  at  it,  just  to 
astonish  them  ? They  won't  listen  unless  they  want  to.' 

He  was  evidently  yearning  to  play  the  Kreutzer,  so  Denis 
consented.  Sandys  explained  to  the  company  that  they  were 
only  going  to  try  it  over,  and  that  no  one  was  expected  to 
refrain  from  talking.  Damboise  mewed  like  a cat  when  the 
violin  was  produced,  but  a moment  later  Denis  saw  him 
making  signals  to  Noel  for  a general  silence. 

Little  Sandys  was  on  his  mettle,  and  played  with  more 
vigour  and  less  accuracy  than  usual.  At  the  conclusion  of 
the  sonata  every  one  applauded  except  Damboise,  who 
possessed  himself  forcibly  of  the  violin  and  tapped  Denis 
on  the  shoulder  with  the  bow. 

4 Those  first  few  bars  of  the  Allegretto  again/  he  said, 
4 That  was  where  the  mouse  began  to  squeak.'  But  when 
once  he  had  begun  to  play  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  break 
off,  and  they  performed  the  whole  of  the  Allegretto,  much  to 
the  disgust  of  Wilson,  who  was  burning  to  recite  another 
poem.  Oh  ! but  it  was  different  from  playing  with  Sandys  ! 
The  violinist  was  in  magnificent  form,  and  Denis  set  his  teeth, 
firmly  resolved  to  be  worthy  of  that  great  honour.  His  nerves 
were  steady,  and  the  consummate  art  of  Damboise  seemed 
to  endow  him  with  novel  and  unknown  power  * every  detail 
in  the  music  developed  in  his  brain  sharply,  inevitably,  so  that 
he  felt  it  would  be  quite  impossible  to  play  a wrong  note  or  to 
throw  inappropriate  stress  on  any  phrase.  And  what  a keen 
joy  it  gave  one,  this  collaboration  with  a great  artist ! When 
the  music  ceased  he  knew  that  one  of  the  finest  occasions  of  his 
life  ended  with  it. 

Sandys  and  the  others  applauded  rapturously , and  Damboise 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


416 

patted  him  on  the  back.  ‘ We  go  very  well  together/  he  said. 
4 It  is  curious ; you  seem  to  feel, — to  feel.  And  you  are  very 
young  ? ’ 

4 Oh  no/  Denis  answered.  ‘ I ’m  twenty, — over  twenty/ 

Damboise  screwed  up  his  eyelids  and  stared  at  him. 

‘Yes/  he  murmured.  ‘ It  is  strange  to  find  a boy  who 
is — like  that, — and  an  English  boy,  above  all.  Do  you  not 
play  cricket  very  much  ? ' 

Little  Sandys  approached  them  with  his  face  wreathed  in 
smiles. 

‘ I told  you  so,  didn’t  I ? ’ he  said  to  Damboise. 

Yet  the  absurd  Denis  went  to  bed  that  night  in  a state 
of  intense  depression,  thinking  how  splendid  life  would  have 
been  if  only  he  had  contrived  to  keep  his  illusions, — if  only  he 
had  never  gone  to  St.  Paul’s,  if  only  Topsy  had  jiot  revealed 
to  him  the  particular  kind  of  beast  that  he  happened  to  be. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


417 


XLIII 


WO  letters  came  to  him  with  the  New  Year:  one  from 


Sandys,  commanding  him  to  accompany  a contralto 
who  was  singing  in  the  intervals  of  a recital  by  Damboise, 
and  the  other  from  Gabriel  Searle.  Dr.  Yorke,  Gabriel  an- 
nounced, was  ill,  and  had  asked  him  to  send  Denis  a cheque 
for  twenty-five  pounds,  the  first  quarterly  payment  of  the 
income  which  was  due  to  him  when  he  came  of  age.  The 
illness,  Gabriel  admitted,  was  not  actually  serious — a nervous 
breakdown,  presumably  from  overwork — but  the  patient's 
behaviour  was  not  reassuring.  ‘ He  has  something  on  his 
mind,'  wrote  Gabriel ; ‘ of  course  he  will  not  confess  the  secret 
which  is  troubling  him,  but  I am  certain  that  he  imagines 
that  he  has  treated  you  badly.'  * Imagines ' was  good, 
thought  Denis.  ‘ I do  hope,  my  dear  boy,'  the  letter  con- 
tinued, ‘ that  you  will  try  to  seize  this  opportunity  of  a final 
reconciliation.  Although  he  has  never  spoken  of  you, 
except  when  he  asked  me  to  send  you  this  money,  I know 
that  he  thinks  of  you  continually,  and  only  yesterday  I saw 
your  photograph — taken  when  you  wore  a sailor-suit — by 
his  bedside.  Do  come  ! Now  you  are  successful  and  happy 
you  can  afford  to  be  magnanimous.  I have  seen  your  name 
frequently  in  the  papers.' 

For  a moment  Denis  felt  an  amazing  impulse  to  follow 
Gabriel's  advice.  He  imagined  the  scene  of  his  return  ; how 
he  would  enter  the  room  and  surprise  his  father,  and  how 
his  father's  face  would  suddenly  lose  all  its  weariness,  and 
would  shine  as  it  had  shone  in  days  long  past  when  he  saw 
his  son  standing  in  the  porch  of  the  Red  House  to  greet 
him  on  his  return  from  a long  tiring  round.  But  colder 
thoughts  succeeded  this  vision.  The  meeting,  if  Gabriel  was 
truthful,  would  not  be  difficult,  but  what  of  the  following 
days  ? How  could  he  endure  to  leave  his  busy  life  in  London 


418 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


for  the  appalling  monotony  of  existence  at  the  Red  House  ? 
His  father,  as  soon  as  he  was  well,  would  resume  all  his  ancient, 
irritating  habits  ; he  would  be  sententious,  he  would  read 
the  paper  during  meals,  he  would  speak  stupidly  of  music, 
and  he  would  clear  his  throat  in  the  old  annoying  way. 
Worse  than  all  this  would  be  the  fact  that  he  would  think 
Denis  had  returned  out  of  gratitude  for  receiving  the  money 
that  had  been  sent  to  him  ; he  would  conclude  that  his  son 
could  be  bought.  Denis  shuddered  as  he  thought  of  this  last 
probability.  Oh  ! it  was  impossible  to  go  home  now, — unless 
he  refused  to  accept  the  money.  But  he  needed  money  ; he 
could  have  starved,  he  believed,  if  his  pride  made  it  necessary, 
but  there  would  be  no  question  of  starving  ; if  his  funds 
ran  out,  he  would  merely  become  unromantically  dependent 
on  Noel.  The  money  was  his  by  right ; to  send  it  back  would 
be  pointless.  He  would  keep  it,  and  he  would  not  go.  Even 
if  he  wished  to  go,  his  future  engagements  rendered  absence 
from  London  practically  impossible. 

He  wrote  a letter  to  Gabriel  explaining  his  position.  He 
was  willing  to  come  and  see  his  father,  he  said,  as  soon  as 
he  had  leisure  ; it  was  unreasonable  to  expect  him  to  rush 
away  on  the  instant.  Gabriel  liked  the  letter  even  less  than 
its  predecessors  ; angry  refusal  seemed  to  him  more  hopeful 
than  its  cold  logic  ; there  was  nothing  boyish  in  its  tone  * 
it  was  clearly  phrased,  temperate,  and  full  of  reason.  As 
long  as  Denis  refused  to  come  home  because  he  was  angry  and 
injured  Gabriel  knew  that  hope  remained,  but  when  he  began 
to  allege  the  pressure  of  affairs  as  an  excuse  the  situation  was 
alarming.  He  wrote  again,  and  received  no  answer.  But 
though  Denis  was  convinced  that  he  was  acting  with  all 
prudence  in  postponing  his  return  indefinitely,  there  was 
something  quite  different  from  reason  in  his  heart  which 
continually  reminded  him  of  home  and  seemed  to  reiterate 
certain  phrases  in  Gabriel's  letter. 

He  continued  to  work  very  hard.  Nothing  happened  to 
distract  him ; Rosalind  did  not  appear  in  Chelsea,  and  Topsy 
was  still  in  the  country.  There  was  constant  reminder  of 
Topsy  in  the  studies  on  Noel's  wall  and  in  the  large  picture 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


419 


which  reproduced  her  with  irritating  faithfulness  ; and  the 
memory  of  the  last  night  in  her  rooms  haunted  him  still, 
but  with  a difference  • he  thought  of  it  less  with  horror  than 
with  dawning  curiosity.  Was  he,  after  all,  such  a monster  of 
wickedness  as  he  had  imagined  on  the  next  day  ? He  had 
regarded  himself  sullied  for  ever,  but,  after  all,  the  astounding 
event  had  made  no  difference  in  his  life,  had  caused  no 
diminution  in  his  musical  talent.  Was  all  that  part  of  one's 
nature  distinct  from  one's  ordinary  existence,  entirely  separate 
from  one's  art,  and  even  from  one's  character  ? And  why, 
when  this  passion  was  so  intense,  so  natural,  did  the  virtuous 
persons  of  earth  persist  in  hunting  its  victims  with  all  the 
sleuth-hounds  of  anger,  yet  showed  no  sort  of  organised 
hatred  against  the  mean,  the  liars,  the  bullies,  the  neatly 
fraudulent  ? Was  it  merely  the  blind  revenge  of  a social 
instinct  which  imagined  itself  to  be  outraged  ? 

On  the  night  of  Damboise's  recital  he  arrived  at  the  hall 
very  early,  and  was  looking  through  the  accompaniments 
which  he  had  to  play  when  the  great  man  came  in,  followed 
by  a tall  slender  person  with  a short  black  beard.  Denis 
recognised  the  latter  as  a French  pianist  of  considerable 
fame  who  often  played  with  the  master.  A few  minutes  later 
the  singer,  a contralto  of  massive  proportions,  arrived  in 
the  artists'  room,  and  Damboise  and  the  pianist,  whose  name 
was  Ducrocq,  went  on  to  the  platform.  The  first  items  in 
which  they  were  associated  were  really  solos  for  Damboise, 
but  after  the  last  group  of  songs  they  were  to  conclude  the 
programme  with  a Beethoven  sonata  for  violin  and  piano, — 
not,  however,  the  Kreutzer. 

Denis  conversed  with  the  singer,  whom  he  found  to  be  a 
pleasant,  unaffected  creature,  overwhelmed  at  that  moment 
with  comic  despair  because  she  was  intensely  nervous.  But 
she  sang  a group  of  Schumann's  songs  very  well,  and  after- 
wards, in  an  ecstasy  of  relief,  she  poured  compliments  on  the 
head  of  her  accompanist.  When,  after  the  second  and  last 
group  of  songs,  she  re-entered  the  artists'  room  with  a bouquet 
in  each  hand,  Damboise  and  the  Frenchman  overwhelmed  her 


420 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


with  congratulations.  * And  all  the  time/  said  Damboise,  who 
was  a very  old  friend,  ‘ were  you  unaware,  dear  madame,  of 
the  excessively  large  black  smut  that  reposes  on  your  nose  ? * 
The  singer  uttered  a low  wail,  stared  at  her  face  in  the  mirror, 
and  made  for  the  door.  It  was  a heavy  door,  and  closed  by 
means  of  a strong  spring,  and  she  went  out  so  quickly  that  no 
one  had  time  to  open  it  for  her.  Ducrocq  sprang  forward  to 
prevent  it  from  catching  on  the  train  of  her  dress,  and  just 
managed  to  seize  it  in  time.  Then  the  door  closed  with  a 
crash,  and  Ducrocq  came  back  rubbing  his  wrist,  and  swearing 
softly  in  French. 

It  was  very  soon  obvious  that  the  wrist  was  badly  sprained, 
and  there  was  not  the  least  possibility  that  its  owner  would 
be  able  to  play  an  arduous  Beethoven  sonata.  Damboise 
instantly  became  a magnificent  study  in  despair  ; he  clutched 
his  long  thick  locks,  he  mopped  his  brow,  he  flung  his  hands 
heavenward,  standing  on  tiptoe;  he  rolled  his  eyes  like  a 
moribund  hero  of  opera.  Then  he  seized  Denis  by  the 
shoulder  and  pushed  him  feebly  towards  the  platform. 
* They  must  be  told  ! ' he  said.  * Go  and  tell  them  ! ' 

At  that  moment  the  singer  returned,  and  on  hearing  what 
had  happened,  added  her  contralto  to  Damboise’s  hoarse 
groans  of  despair.  ‘ They  all  came  for  the  sonata  ! ' she  said, 
with  noble  self-abnegation  ; ‘ but  if  you  like  I 'll  sing  them 
some  more  songs.  They  'll  hate  me,  but  it  will  be  better  than 
nothing.'  Then  her  eyes  fell  on  Denis.  ‘ Mr.  Yorke  ! ' she 
cried.  ‘ Can't  you  play  the  sonata  ? ' Damboise  turned  to 
stare  at  him,  and  he  felt  the  joints  of  his  knees  relax  suddenly. 

‘ An  idea  ! ' cried  Damboise.  ‘ Sandys  told  me  that  you 
played  several  others  just  as  finely  as  you  played  the  Kreutzer. 
Is  this  one  of  them  ? ' 

‘ Sandys  and  I can  play  it,'  said  Denis,  ‘ but  with  you  it 
would  be  different.  And  I 'm  not  certain, — I 've  never  done 
anything  big  in  public.' 

Damboise  beamed  suddenly.  ‘ Ah  bah  ! ' he  said  ; ‘ this 
isn't  public,  this  is  a little  tiny  private  recital.  You  mustn't 
be  nervous  ; they  will  make  every  indulgence  : I will  make 
them  a speech  You  shall  have  the  music — Ducrocq  has  it 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


421 


with  him — and  the  young  man  with  the  spectacles  shall 
turn  over  for  you.  Now,  my  dear  boy,  this  is  a great  moment, 
a great  chance  ! Will  you  save  the  situation  ? Will  you  do 
me  this  honour  ? * 

‘ 1 11  try/  said  Denis,  after  a moment.  Damboise  became 
grave  at  once. 

' But  you  must  be  confident/  he  said.  ‘ There  must  be 
no  debacle , no  smash-up  ! You  feel  safe  ? * 

Denis  did  not  answer,  but  his  face  was  grimly  determined. 
He  was  already  mentally  running  through  the  sonata.  Dam- 
boise looked  at  him  for  a moment,  then  turned  and  went  on 
the  platform.  Ducrocq  came  up  to  Denis  and  shook  his  hand 
solemnly. 

The  hall  seemed  to  be  flooded  with  blinding  light  when  he 
entered  it,  and  for  a moment  he  endured  all  the  agony  of 
acute  panic.  But  as  soon  as  he  sat  down  at  the  piano  his 
nervousness  departed  ; he  was  dominated  by  the  spell  of 
Damboise’s  playing,  and  though  he  kept  a wary  eye  on  the 
music,  he  had  no  real  fear  of  failure.  Very  soon  he  began 
to  be  conscious  of  an  immense  exhilaration  of  spirit,  which 
meant,  of  course,  that  the  sonata  was  going  well,  that  Dam- 
boise and  himself  were  completely  en  rapport.  At  length  he 
had  found  that  it  was  possible  actually  to  enjoy  playing  in 
public  ; the  presence  of  a silent  throng  of  listeners  really 
inspired  him,  and  there  was  not  the  subtle  antipathy  between 
the  tone  of  the  violin  and  that  of  the  piano  which,  when  he 
played  with  Sandys,  he  had  imagined  to  exist. 

Not  till  it  was  over,  and  he  stood  beside  Damboise  bowing 
to  a fusillade  of  applause  which  seemed  as  if  it  would  never 
end,  did  he  realise  how  great  the  strain  had  been.  The 
light  flickered  and  grew  faint  before  his  eyes,  and  he  felt 
giddy,  and  intensely  thirsty.  He  wondered  if  he  could  go  off 
the  platform,  for  of  course  all  the  shouting  and  tumult  was 
a tribute  to  Damboise  ; then  he  felt  the  violinist  seize  his 
arm  and  propel  him  to  the  front  of  the  stage.  Damboise 
stood  by  his  side  and  made  absurd  gestures,  as  if  he  were  a 
conjurer  who  had  miraculously  produced  a rabbit  from  a tall 
hat,  and  the  shouting  became  louder  than  ever.  At  that 


422 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


moment  Denis  caught  sight  of  Rosalind,  who  was  standing 
near  a doorway  with  Miss  Amory  and  Sandys.  The  blood 
rushed  to  his  face,  and  he  stared  fixedly  at  her.  Thank 
Heaven  he  hadn’t  known  that  she  was  there  whilst  he  had  been 
playing  ! 

Damboise  was  at  his  elbow.  ‘ Bow,  bow  ! ’ he  said  fiercely. 
‘ Bow  to  them,  don’t  go  to  sleep  ! It ’s  you  that  they  applaud 
now  ! It  is  your  triumph  ! ’ Denis  bowed  mechanically 
several  times,  with  his  eyes  still  fixed  on  Rosalind.  The 
hall  began  to  grow  empty,  and  at  last  he  was  permitted 
to  escape.  Congratulations  were  showered  upon  him  in 
the  artists’  room  ; Ducrocq  nobly  asserted  that  his  own 
rendering  would  have  been  inferior  to  his  dear  young  friend’s  ■ 
Damboise  was  ecstatic,  and  the  contralto  remarked  that 
she  had  known  exactly  what  would  happen. 

Little  Sandys  came  in  breathless  with  excitement,  waving 
his  arms.  ‘ Magnificent ! magnificent ! } he  kept  on  repeat- 
ing. ' Denis,  you  ’re  a made  man  ! The  ball ’s  at  your  feet 
now  ! ’ Denis  interrupted  him  with  a question  about  Rosa- 
lind, and  Sandys  explained  that  she  had  departed  in  a cab. 

‘ She  was  delighted,  my  dear  boy,  absolutely  delighted ! 
But  she  wouldn’t  come  round.  She  said  she  would  keep 
her  congratulations  until  she  met  you  alone.  Now  I 
suppose  you’re  sorry  that  we  wasted  our  time  over  the 
sonatas ! ’ 

Denis  sat  down  on  a sofa,  looking  very  tired  and  white. 
That  every  one  spoke  so  kindly  of  his  playing  was  only 
another  instance  of  the  irony  of  fate.  In  the  midst  of  his 
triumph  he  had  realised  that  the  face  of  Rosalind,  as  he  saw  it 
for  a moment  ‘ beyond  the  roaring  and  the  lights,’  wore  an 
expression  of  extraordinary  sorrow,  and  he  was  trying  vainly 
to  conceive  what  this  startling  fact  might  mean.  It  seemed 
as  if  her  eyes  had  been  fixed  on  him  in  a desperate  appeal 
for  help,  and  her  lips  had  been  tense  with  pain.  He  was  not 
mistaken  ; this  was  no  trick  of  the  lights  ; he  had  looked 
at  her  steadily  and  made  sure  of  it.  He  hardly  heeded 
the  congratulations  of  his  friends,  and  altogether  behaved 
so  oddly  that  he  frightened  little  Sandys,  who  insisted  on  his 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


423 


drinking  a brandy-and-soda.  It  seemed  to  Denis  that 
her  eyes  had  sent  a signal  to  him,  that  they  had  said,  as 
plainly  as  if  a voice  had  spoken,  4 Come  and  see  me.  Come 
and  help  me/  Did  some  strange  sense  tell  her  that  he  would 
understand,  that  he  would  come  ? Was  she  thinking  of 
his  coming  when  she  uttered  the  phrase  which  Sandys  had 
repeated — the  phrase  about  seeing  him  alone  ? 

When  they  drove  home,  having  at  last  contrived  to  escape 
from  Damboise,  he  refused  to  speak  of  music,  but  began  to 
question  Sandys  closely  about  Rosalind.  Did  she  seem  sad  ? 
Was  she  pale  ? Did  Sandys  know  if  anything  was  wrong  ? 
The  memory  of  her  eyes  troubled  him  so  strangely  that  if 
he  had  been  alone,  he  thought,  he  would  have  driven  at  once 
to  Hampstead  even  at  that  late  hour.  Sandys  affirmed  that 
when  he  met  her  outside  the  hall  he  had  been  struck  by  her 
tired  appearance  ; but  she  couldn't  really  have  been  tired, 
the  little  man  explained  wisely,  for  she  talked  brilliantly, 
was  delightful,  enchanting,  and  more  beautiful  than  ever. 
There  was  nothing,  so  far  as  he  was  aware,  to  make  her  sad, — 
except,  of  course,  old  Grimshaw’s  illness.  Grimshaw  had 
been  her  master  for  a long  time, — Denis  knew  how  much  she 
admired  his  work  ; and  Grimshaw  was  pretty  bad  ; the 
doctors  didn’t  like  his  looks,  and,  worse  still,  he  had  given 
himself  up,  was  convinced  that  he  was  going  to  die,  and 
announced  that  his  death  would  annoy  no  one  and  please 
several  people.  Sandys  supposed  that  this  bitter  dictum 
was  an  allusion  to  Academic  circles  of  painting.  At  any  rate, 
Grimshaw  had  been  ordered  to  go  abroad  immediately, 
which  was  very  rough  luck,  for  though  he  was  rather  a 
grumpy  devil,  he  had  done  some  splendid  work. 

But  Grimshaw’s  illness,  thought  Denis,  could  not  account 
wholly  for  that  expression  of  deep  sadness  ; she  had  known 
for  a long  time  that  he  was  ill.  It  was  more  probable,  how- 
ever, that  she  was  sad  because  the  painter  was  going  abroad  * 
but  even  if  this  was  the  explanation,  why  had  she  sent  that 
direct,  poignant  glance,  that  unmistakable  message  for 
help,  to  himself,  of  all  people,  to  the  very  person  who,  as  she 
had  said,  was  incapable  of  understanding,  of  sympathy  ? 


424 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


There  was  some  deeper  reason  for  her  trouble,  he  felt  certain, 
something  which  concerned  him  intimately. 

Little  Sandys  ascended  to  the  studio  in  order  that  Noel 
might  receive  a full  and  true  account  of  the  triumph  of  Denis. 
Noel  appeared  to  be  properly  pleased  by  the  boy's  success, 
but  he  did  not  catch  the  infection  of  Sandys'  excitement. 
For  the  first  time  in  their  long  acquaintance  Denis  noticed 
that  he  seemed  absent-minded  and  preoccupied.  ‘ Were 
you  sitting  with  Rosalind  ? ' he  asked,  when  Sandys  paused 
to  regain  breath.  Sandys  nodded  eloquently.  ‘ How  was 
she  ? Pretty  fit  ? ' said  Noel. 

‘ Splendid,  splendid  ! ' cried  Sandys.  ‘ She  grows  more 
wonderful  every  day.  I wish  you  could  have  seen  her  when 
Damboise  announced  that  Denis  would  play  in  the  sonata. 
I shall  never  forget  her  face.' 

Noel  uttered  a kind  of  growl,  and  refilled  his  pipe.  Sandys 
prophesied  in  glowing  phrases  concerning  the  future  career 
of  Denis — a splendid  ascent  from  glory  to  glory,  with  Dam- 
boise for  his  guide,  and  himself  as  a humble  follower.  ‘ I 
shall  cling  to  you  like  a leech,  Denis,'  he  announced,  * you  '11 
never  be  able  to  shake  me  off ! ' Denis  sat  with  his  long  legs 
thrown  over  the  arm  of  his  chair,  smoking  a pipe,  and  wishing 
that  he  could  feel  more  grateful  to  the  friendly  little  man. 
The  reaction  that  followed  any  keen  artistic  effort  once  more 
oppressed  him  heavily  ; he  felt  incapable  of  any  emotion, 
and  could  only  think  vaguely  of  Rosalind.  But  even  then, 
when  all  the  excitement  that  the  music  brought  had  ebbed 
away,  he  was  certain  that  he  had  not  misinterpreted  the 
expression  in  her  eyes  ; she  had  signalled  to  him  for  help,  and 
he  would  go  to  see  her  next  morning. 

At  length  Sandys  departed  in  a final  coruscation  of  prophecy 
and  rejoicing.  Denis  flung  his  legs  off  the  arm  of  his  chair, 
rose,  and  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  pipe. 

‘ I 'm  for  bed,'  he  said,  rubbing  his  eyes.  f Good-night, 
Noel.’ 

‘ Good-night,'  returned  Noel.  He  was  still  gazing  moodily 
at  the  fire,  and  spoke  mechanically.  Denis  reached  the  door, 
then  turned  suddenly. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


425 


4 Noel/  he  said,  ‘ what  on  earth  is  the  matter  with  her  ? 9 

Noel  swung  round  in  his  chair  and  stared  at  him. 

4 What  do  you  mean  ? ' he  said.  He  began  to  regard 
Denis  with  a strange,  suspicious  expression  ; his  eyes  were 
almost  hostile.  4 What  are  you  talking  about  ? 1 he  de- 
manded. 

‘ About  Rosalind/  Denis  answered.  He  felt  irritated  by 
Noel's  lack  of  frankness,  and  was  half  inclined  to  show  him 
that  his  secret  was  already  betrayed.  ‘ To-night  I saw  her 
at  the  end  of  the  concert,  and  she  looked  absolutely  miserable. 
Do  you  know  if  there 's  anything  wrong  ? 9 

Noel  still  stared  at  him. 

* Probably  if  you  had  looked  at  the  other  faces  in  the 
audience,'  he  said  at  length,  ‘ you  would  have  seen  the  same 
expression  of  misery  on  every  one  of  them.'  This  remark,  of 
course,  was  in  Noel's  usual  manner,  but  the  tone  in  which  he 
spoke  was  quite  foreign  to  him.  ‘ You  've  a wonderful  ima- 
gination, Denis.  If  I were  you  I should  take  it  off  to  bed.' 

Denis  disregarded  this  sound  fragment  of  advice.  4 You 
all  treat  me  as  if  I were  a child,'  he  said  angrily ; ‘ you  think 
I can’t  see  things ; that  I don’t  know.  As  a matter  of  fact 
I know  everything.'  He  paused  and  felt  that  he  had  begun 
to  talk  nonsense.  Noel  kicked  the  fire  vigorously  and  rose 
from  his  chair 

‘ Then  you  're  a very  unlucky  boy — I mean  man,'  he  said. 
‘ The  way  to  be  happy  is  to  know  nothing — and  to  avoid 
poking  your  inquisitive  nose  into  other  people's  mare's-nests. 
You  're  not  made  for  that  kind  of  thing  ; what  you  are 
made  for  is  to  play  the  piano  and  cultivate  your  own  little 
soul.  I don't  want  to  hear  what  it  is  that  you  think  you 
know,  but  I can  inform  you  confidently  that,  whatever  it  is, 
it 's  wrong.' 

Denis  returned  towards  him. 

‘ It 's  not  wrong  ! ' he  said,  and  his  voice  trembled.  ‘ I 
know  everything,  and  I think  it 's  too  horrible.  Sandys  says 
that  he 's  going  to  die,  and  I hope  it 's  true.  I wouldn't  ever 
have  believed  it  of  her,  but  I found  out.  I 'm  absolutely 
certain  ! ' 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


426 

He  fully  expected  that  his  outburst  would  infuriate  Noel  * 
but  after  staring  at  him  for  a very  long  time,  during  which 
he  felt  dismally  conscious  that  all  his  dignity  was  ebbing, 
the  disgusting  Noel  began  to  laugh  quietly. 

' Denis,  you  're  a prig  ! ' was  all  that  he  said. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


427 


XLIV 

ON  the  morning  after  the  concert  he  slept  late,  and  when 
he  entered  the  studio  he  found  that  Noel  had  gone 
out.  In  spite  of  the  rebuff  which  he  had  received  from  his 
friend,  he  still  adhered  to  his  resolution,  and  felt  strangely 
excited  by  the  thought  of  going  to  Hampstead.  Rosalind, 
at  any  rate,  no  longer  regarded  him  as  a child  ; she  had 
appealed  for  his  help,  had  turned  to  him  rather  than  to  Noel 
and  Miss  Amory,  who  had  been  accomplices  in  her  folly  ; 
perhaps  she  realised  at  last  that  he  had  taken  a wise  view  of 
the  deplorable  affair  in  which  she  was  entangled.  Again  he 
became  lost  in  vague  speculations  as  to  the  cause  of  her 
troubled  expression.  Had  she  discovered  Grimshaw’s  true 
character  at  last  ? Formerly,  he  had  been  convinced  that 
she  knew  all  about  the  artist’s  life,  and  loved  him  in  spite  of 
that  knowledge,  but  now,  in  the  light  of  those  sorrowful  eyes, 
he  began  to  wonder  if,  after  all,  she  had  discovered  at  last  that 
she  had  worshipped  an  unworthy  idol,  and  was  searching 
desperately  for  the  means  of  freedom. 

If  he  could  only  free  her, — snatch  her  away  from  Grim- 
shaw’s  dishonourable  hands  ! But  were  his  own  more  clean  ? 
He  thought  again  of  the  scene  in  Topsy’s  bedroom,  and  felt  a 
nauseating  disgust.  He  was  not  worthy  of  Rosalind  now, 
for  though  he  had  partially  expiated  that  disastrous  affair  in 
bitter  remorse,  the  fierce  temptation  had  returned  at  intervals, 
and  there  had  been  momentswhen  he  longed  to  seeTopsy  again. 
Yet  all  the  while,  he  was  certain,  he  loved  Rosalind,  even 
though  he  passed  whole  days  at  work  without  thinking  of  her, 
even  though  this  hateful,  recurring  sensual  obsession  clouded 
his  brain  and  made  him  blind  to  everything  that  he  had  once 
found  delightful.  He  felt  a longing  to  confess  to  her  that 
he  was  not  the  quiet,  reserved,  hard-working  boy  that  she 
imagined  him  to  be,  but  an  unhappy  wretch  who  was  the  prey 


428 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


of  wild  passions,  the  creature  of  a hundred  moods,  the  slave  of 
circumstance.  But  of  course  he  would  not  confess  • girls 
were  brought  up  in  ignorance  of  all  that  kind  of  thing,  or,  if 
they  were  not  ignorant,  they  were  trained  to  regard  it  with 
cold  horror.  Perhaps  this  was  right ; men  were  beasts  ; he 
was  a beast.  Yet  there  was  no  distinction  made  between 
those  who  rejoiced  in  beastliness  and  those  who  collapsed  after 
struggling  with  intense  temptation  ; pious  people  branded 
both  classes  as  equally  shocking.  Rosalind  was  not  a pious 
person,  but  she  would  not  understand.  She  would  continue 
to  think  of  him  as  the  simple  youth  that  she,  in  her  ignorance, 
imagined  him  to  be,  and  he  would  continue  to  be  the  complex 
creature  that  he  really  was.  Always  this  hateful  misunder- 
standing ! But  at  any  rate  he  would  go  to  Hampstead. 

He  was  on  the  point  of  starting  when  there  was  a knock 
at  the  door,  and  a moment  later  Grimshaw  entered.  Denis 
had  not  seen  him  since  Christmas  night,  and  was  startled  by 
the  sinister  change  in  his  aspect.  The  painter  was  grotesquely 
shrunken  ; his  clothes  hung  loosely  from  the  sharp  ridge  of  his 
shoulders,  his  face  was  pale  as  wax  and  his  eyes  were  un- 
naturally bright.  He  walked  with  difficulty,  and  for  some 
moments  was  too  breathless  to  speak. 

‘ Damn  your  bloody  stairs  ! ' he  remarked  at  length,  sinking 
into  a chair. 

Though  Denis  disliked  him  intensely,  he  could  not  help 
feeling  sorry  for  him.  Grimshaw  looked  at  that  moment  like 
a dying  man  ; the  perspiration  glistened  on  his  forehead,  and 
his  hands  twitched  horribly. 

4 You  don't  look  well,'  said  Denis ; 4 those  stairs  are 

enough  to  give  every  one  heart  disease.  Have  some  coffee  ? 
It 's  quite  warm  ; I 've  only  just  had  breakfast.' 

Grimshaw  shook  his  head. 

4 No.  I '11  have  a brandy-and-soda  if  you 've  got  one,'  he 
answered.  He  consumed  the  drink  in  two  gulps,  and  gave  a 
sigh  of  relief. 

4 That 's  better,'  he  said,  wiping  his  bristling  moustache. 
4 Is  Noel  out  ? ' He  assumed  his  usual  attitude,  stretching 
out  his  legs  and  staring  up  at  the  ceiling. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


429 


4 Yes/  Denis  answered,  * but  he  'll  be  back  very  soon,  I 
expect.  I know  that  he  has  a model  coming  this  evening. 
I 'm  afraid  I have  to  go  out  too,'  he  added.  4 But  you  'll 
wait  to  see  Noel,  won't  you  ? ' 

Grimshaw  continued  to  stare  at  the  ceiling. 

4 No,'  he  said,  after  a while,  4 I shan't  wait  to  see  Noel. 
I didn't  come  to  see  Noel.  I came,'  he  added  slowly,  4 to  see 
you.' 

Denis  was  so  greatly  surprised  by  this  statement  that  he 
could  say  nothing  but  4 Oh  ! really  ! ’ in  a tone  that  sounded 
ironical.  He  always  felt  ill  at  ease  when  Grimshaw  was 
present,  and  looked  forward  without  enthusiasm  to  a private 
conversation  with  the  painter.  4 Have  a cigarette  ? ' he 
suggested. 

4 No,  thanks,'  said  Grimshaw.  4 When  I inhale  them  they 
make  me  cough  blood.  In  order  that  you  may  pay  par- 
ticular attention  to  my  remarks,  I may  as  well  inform  you, 
Mr.  Denis  Yorke,  that  I am  a dying  man.  My  doctor  gives 
me  two  months'  life,  with  luck.  Dreadful,  isn't  it  ? Qualis 
artifex  pereo , as  we  say.  But  you  needn't  waste  your  breath 
on  lamentations  or  condolence  ; we  never  cared  much  for 
each  other,  you  and  I.  I 've  got  something  to  say  to  you. 
It  'll  only  take  a few  minutes,- — you  needn't  look  so  frightened. 
Where  were  you  going  when  I came  in  ? ' 

4 To  Hampstead,'  said  Denis.  Grimshaw  frowned. 

4 Hampstead  will  keep,'  he  said.  4 You  're  going  to  see 
Rosalind,  I suppose  ? ' 

4 Yes,'  answered  Denis. 

Grimshaw  smiled  unpleasantly.  4 Going  to  tell  her  some 
more  about  me  ? ' he  said.  Denis  stared  at  him,  and  he 
continued  : 4 1 want  to  know — merely  from  scientific  curiosity 
— what  you  said  to  set  her  against  me  ? ' His  eyes  shifted 
suddenly  ; he  stared  at  the  boy.  4 You  did  it  very  well ; 
I always  thought  that  you  were  a poor,  fond  sort  of  creature, 
but  I respect  you  now.' 

His  voice  grew  soft,  and  Denis  writhed  inwardly.  4 I don't 
remember  that  I said  anything  much,'  he  answered.  4 She 
knew7  I disliked — the  whole  thing.' 


430 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


Grimshaw  shrugged  his  thin  shoulders. 

* Oh  ! don't  lie,'  he  said.  * It  isn’t  worth  it.  I ’ve  not 
come  on  an  errand  of  vengeance.  When  you  were  ill  she 
went  to  see  you,  and  directly  afterwards — that  same  evening 
— I saw  that  she  had  changed.  She  has  been — different — 
ever  since.  You  managed  to  put  some  very  big  spoke  in  my 
wheel,  and  I want  to  know  what  it  was.  It  must  have  been 
a lie  of  some  kind,  for  she  knew  all  the  truth  about  me. 
You’re  evidently  an  ingenious  young  person.  What  was 
it?’ 

He  spoke  almost  gaily.  A sudden  horror  of  the  situation 
made  Denis’s  heart  sink.  It  was  monstrous  that  they  should 
be  talking  in  this  way  of  Rosalind,  that  Grimshaw  should 
cynically  acknowledge  his  passion  for  her,  that  he  himself 
should  be  obliged  to  listen.  He  went  towards  the  door. 

‘ I don’t  see  the  use  of  discussing  this  any  further,’  he  said  : 
€ you  know  that  she  would  hate  it  if  she  knew.’ 

Grimshaw  sprang  from  his  chair,  hobbled  across  to  the  door, 
and  leant  against  it  with  folded  arms. 

4 It ’s  no  good,’  he  said,  ‘ you  aren’t  going  until  you  answer 
that  question.  If  you  try  to  push  me  away  I shall  break 
internally,  and  you  ’ll  be  had  up  for  manslaughter.  Now,  out 
with  it,  what  did  you  say  ? ’ 

Denis  was  silent  for  some  moments.  Then  he  spoke  very 
sulkily. 

‘ Nothing,’  he  said,  f nothing,  as  far  as  I can  remember, 
except  that  I was  in  love  with  her  myself.’ 

This  naive  revelation  appeared  to  have  the  most  remarkable 
effect  on  Grimshaw.  He  glared  at  Denis  in  speechless  amaze- 
ment for  at  least  a minute,  and  then  walked  slowly  towards 
him. 

‘ Well,  I ’m  damned  ! ’ he  said.  ‘ You  told  her  that ! ’ 
For  a moment  he  looked  as  if  he  were  going  to  fall  upon  Denis 
and  destroy  him  utterly ; then  he  glanced  round  the  room 
and  sank  into  a chair. 

‘ Was  it  true  ? ’ he  said.  Denis  nodded.  Grimshaw 
contemplated  him  with  intense  curiosity. 

‘ You  poor  little  devil ! ’ he  said,  with  a short  laugh.  ‘ I ’m 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


43i 


sorry  for  you.’  His  expression  changed ; a look  of  anxiety 
intensified  the  haggard  lines  of  his  face.  * So  that  was  why 
she  became  different  ? ' he  said  slowly. 

Denis  was  utterly  sick  of  the  interview.  He  flung  himself 
into  a chair.  ‘ Oh,  I don't  imagine  so/  he  said.  * She  told 
me  that  she  didn't  care  for  me,  and  wouldn't  ever.' 

1 In  so  many  words  ? ' asked  Grimshaw. 

‘ Yes,  in  so  many  words,'  Denis  answered.  * Why  do  you 
ask  that  ? ' 

4 Because  she  has  other  ways  of  giving  people  that  par- 
ticular item  of  information,'  said  Grimshaw.  His  voice  was 
so  harsh  that  Denis  stared.  Was  it  possible  ? Did  he  mean 
that  Rosalind  had  given  it  to  him  ? 

‘ And  that,'  said  Grimshaw,  in  a milder  tone,  c brings  me  to 
my  second  reason  for  coming  to  see  you.  I know  that  you 
were  hanging  about  us  in  St.  Paul’s  Cathedral  that  day.  Oh  ! 
don't  imagine  that  I accuse  you  of  stalking  us, — even  if  you 
did,  I see  now  that  it  was  excusable — and  of  course  you  didn't. 
But  I know  that  you  turned  up  a moment  before  I kissed  her 
hand,  and  that  you  saw  me  do  it.' 

‘ And  should  have  liked  to  have  thrown  you  down  the 
steps,'  added  Denis. 

‘ Quite  so,'  said  Grimshaw.  ‘ But  perhaps  you  weren't 
aware  that  I knew  you  were  there,  that  I saw  you  come  in,  and 
knowing  what  a young  prig  you  were,  I kissed  her  hand 
merely  to  give  your  eavesdropping  some  definite  result.  It 
was  caddish  of  me,  of  course,  but  I am  a cad  as  regards  women. 
And  I may  also  tell  you,  Mr.  Denis  Yorke,  that  though  I 've 
been  in  love  with  her  for  ages,  she  has  never  cared  a two- 
penny damn  for  me ; she  likes  me — as  a friend, — she  pities 
me ; she 's  fool  enough  for  that.  So  when  I 'm  dead,  Mr. 
Denis  Yorke,  don't  you  or  any  other  virtuous  little  demi-semi- 
curates  dare  to  say  that  she  was  in  love  with  me,  that  she 
threw  herself  away  on  a drunkard  who  was  married  already, 
for  it  'salie!  She  never  cared  for  me,  and  it 's  only  my 
cursed  selfishness, — the  way  I 've  behaved,  always  going 
about  with  her  and  letting  every  one  see  I was  madly  in  love 
with  her — that  makes  people  like  you  think  she  did.  But 


432 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


because  she  liked  my  pictures,  and  because  all  the  gentleness 
and  goodness  of  heaven  and  earth  is  in  her  soul,  she  pitied 
me.  That 's  all,  Mr.  Denis  Yorke ! * 

And  then  Denis  also  pitied  him,  for  even  whilst  he  sat 
there,  the  hopeless  wreck  of  a strong  man,  his  haggard  face  was 
transfigured  and  became  noble  with  the  light  of  great  love. 
He  had  lied,  the  boy  realised,  about  the  affair  in  St.  Paul's 
in  order  to  protect  Rosalind  from  the  scorn  of  fools — Denis 
had  seen  her  face  on  that  occasion  ; but  whether  he  was  lying 
or  was  self-deceived  when  he  asserted  that  Rosalind  did  not 
care  for  him,  it  was  less  easy  to  decide.  Could  it  be  possible 
that  he  did  not  realise  that  she  loved  him  ? Was  the  glance 
that  she  gave  him  eloquent  only  to  poor  Denis  of  all  that  was 
in  her  heart  ? If  Grimshaw  was  blind  to  that  he  was  certainly 
unworthy  of  her  ! 

Meanwhile  Grimshaw  reiterated  his  last  assertion.  'You 
understand,'  he  said,  ‘ you  see  clearly,  my  little  prodigy,  that 
it  was  always  a one-sided  affair  ; that  she  really  cared  no  more 
for  me  than  she  cared  for  the  man  Archibald — or  for  you.  It 
will  not  be  a bad  plan  for  you  to  devote  the  rest  of  your  life 
to  letting  people  know  this  remarkable  fact.  You  can  say 
anything  you  like  about  me.  I shall  be  hors  concours  ; in  the 
beautiful  language  of  Topsy,  I shall  have  turned  my  toes  up. 
In  the  course  of  time,  when  the  Chantrey  Bequest  is  no  longer 
controlled  by  idiots,  you  will  see  my  portrait  of  her  in  the 
Tate  Gallery.  You  can  make  it  your  mission  to  contradict 
any  foolish  legend  that  our  well-meaning  friends  may  happen 
to  connect  with  that  great  work  of  art.' 

Denis  realised  at  length  that  Grimshaw  was  telling  what  he 
imagined  to  be  the  truth,  that  he  was  actually  convinced  that 
Rosalind  did  not  care  for  him.  The  full  pathos  of  the  situa- 
tion revealed  itself  suddenly  ; the  man  was  dying,  and  would 
never  know  how  great  his  good  fortune  had  been  ; he  would 
go  abroad  in  ignorance  of  the  fact  that  the  girl  whom  he  loved 
was  devoted  to  him,  to  him  only.  For  some  unknown  reason 
she  had  refrained,  apparently,  from  speaking  of  her  love,  and 
Grimshaw  had  been  too  blind  to  read  her  eyes.  What  a fool, 
this  poor  Grimshaw  ! certainly  he  didn't  deserve  to  be  told 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


433 


the  truth, — yet  he  was  dying ; to  know  the  truth  would  make 
all  the  difference  to  the  last  weeks  of  his  life,  and  only  one 
person  could  be  hurt  by  his  knowledge.  The  sentimentalist  in 
Denis  became  active  ; here,  he  reasoned,  was  a chance  to  do  a 
kindness  to  a dying  man  and  at  the  same  time  to  perform  a 
prodigy  of  self-abnegation.  But  was  Grimshaw  really  dying  ? 

The  conflict  in  his  mind  was  brief  but  very  fierce.  It  would 
be  so  easy  to  keep  silence,  to  allow  Grimshaw  to  remain 
ignorant ; and  perhaps  Rosalind  had  really  conquered  her 
love  at  last ; it  was  remarkable  that  she  had  seemed  to  be 
changed  after  the  interview  with  himself.  But  when  he 
looked  at  Grimshaw,  and  remembered  the  reason  for  his  visit, 
he  felt  nothing  but  pity.  Grimshaw  was  wrong  ; she  could 
not  change,  her  soul  was  faithfulness  itself.  And  Grimshaw,  in 
his  queer  way,  had  shown  that  he  could  be  chivalrous  ; he 
loved  her  so  greatly  that  he  loathed  the  thought  of  her  being 
assailed  by  clamorous  tongues,  and  in  order  to  guard  against 
them  he  had  forced  himself  to  confide  in  a person  whom  he 
disliked  and  despised.  He  was  a decent  fellow,  after  all ! 
He  deserved  to  know  the  truth.  Denis  rose  from  his  chair 
and  went  towards  the  painter. 

‘ You  're  wrong/  he  said,  ‘ hopelessly  wrong.  I know 
perfectly  well  that  she  's  in  love  with  you, — as  much  in  love 
with  you  as  you  are  with  her.  I 've  been  certain  of  it  all 
along,  and  I 'm  more  certain  now.' 

This  last  remark  was  an  allusion  to  the  unsuspected  decency 
that  Grimshaw  had  proved  himself  to  possess.  The  painter 
did  not  appreciate  the  tribute  and  drummed  on  the  chair 
with  his  fingers. 

‘ You  're  a pig-headed  young  fool/  he  said.  ‘ Haven't  I 
told  you  that  she  doesn't  care  a damn  for  me  ? I ought  to 
know  better  than  any  one,  I should  think.' 

‘ But  you  don't,'  said  Denis.  ‘ I knew  her  years  before  you 
met  her,  and  I saw  her  face  in  St.  Paul's.  I knew  what  it 
meant.  If  she  had  looked  in  that  way  at  me ' 

Grimshaw  interrupted  him.  ‘ I don't  imagine  that  you  're 
any  judge  of  faces,'  he  said  impatiently.  ‘ You 've  got  to 
believe  what  I told  you,  and  not  to  go  running  after  your  own 


434 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


sickly  theories.  You  talk  like  a sentimental  Frenchwoman. 
Damme,  you  're  disgusting/ 

4 I may  be/  Denis  answered,  4 but  I 'm  right.  And  if  you 
want  another  proof  that  I am,  here  it  is.  She  told  me  herself 
that  she  loved  you,  and  always  would.  I 'll  swear  it  if  you  like/ 

Grimshaw's  expression  changed. 

4 You  're  a liar  ! ' he  said.  4 What  the  devil  are  you  driving 
at,  anyhow  ? You  've  no  right  to  go  and  quote  things  that 
she  said  to  you  in  confidence.  But  I don’t  believe  you  ; it 's 
part  of  some  deep  game  ; you  want  to  send  me  on  a fool’s 
errand,  I fancy.'  But  he  was  obviously  impressed  by  Denis's 
statement.  4 When  do  you  pretend  that  she  said  that  ? 9 
he  demanded  after  a moment. 

4 In  my  room  when  I was  ill,'  answered  Denis.  4 And  it 's 
true.  Can’t  you  see  that  I couldn't  invent  it  ? You  know 
that  I love  her  ; I only  want  her  to  be  happy  ; - 1 don't  care 
about  you  or  myself  or  any  one.  I hate  the  whole  beastly 
world,  and  if  I knew  that  it  was  going  to  burst  like  a rotten 
orange  to-morrow,  and  that  I could  save  it,  I wouldn't  stir  a 
finger  except  for  her  sake.  She 's  wretched — miserable — I 
saw  her  face  the  other  night.  It 's  because  she  knows  you  're 
very  ill,  or  you  haven’t  been  to  see  her,  or  something  like  that. 
And  as  you 've  made  her  fall  in  love  with  you,  you  may  as 
well  try  to  save  her  from  breaking  her  heart.  Things  are  bad 
enough  as  it  is.' 

This  incoherent  outburst  seemed  to  have  more  effect  on 
Grimshaw  than  either  of  Denis's  previous  statements.  He 
stared  keenly  at  the  boy. 

4 No,  I haven’t  been  to  see  her,'  he  said  in  a quieter  voice. 
4 1 thought  she  didn't  want  me  any  more.'  He  paused,  and 
moved  slowly  across  the  room  towards  his  hat. 

4 It 's  rather  late  now,  I think,'  he  said.  4 But  all  the  same 
— I 'll  go.'  Again  he  stared  at  Denis,  who  had  sunk  into  an 
armchair. 

4 I ought  to  have  painted  you,'  said  Grimshaw  suddenly, 
and  went  without  another  word.  He  did  not  even  swear  at 
the  stairs. 

So  Denis  did  not  go  to  Hampstead. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


435 


XLV 

‘ f^OME  and  see  me  at  once . — Damboise.' 

^ The  telegram  arrived  at  breakfast-time,  and  Denis  threw 
it  across  the  table  to  Noel.  ‘ I suppose  I must  go/  he  said. 
But  he  felt  a very  faint  curiosity  concerning  the  reason 
of  the  summons,  and  watched  Noel's  face  with  listless  eyes, 
Noel,  who  seemed  to  have  recovered  his  usual  good  spirits, 
hit  him  neatly  on  the  nose  with  a lump  of  sugar. 

‘ Don’t  make  faces  at  the  gifts  of  the  gods,’  he  said.  ‘ There ’s 
something  immense  behind  this.  Probably  he  has  taken  the 
Albert  Hall  and  is  going  to  produce  you  as  an  infant  prodigy 
in  a velvet  suit  and  a lace  collar.  I should  think  you  must  go  ! 
Are  my  declining  years  to  be  spent  in  poverty  ? Put  your  best 
boots  on  and  hurtle  off.’ 

Denis  did  not  hurtle,  but  about  an  hour  later  he  contrived 
to  reach  the  flat  in  Kensington  Gore  which  Damboise  occupied 
during  his  visits  to  London.  He  found  the  great  man  alone 
with  Madame  Damboise,  a short,  grey-haired  woman  with  a 
face  as  dark  as  a gipsy’s  and  bright,  shrewd  eyes.  She  seemed 
very  much  interested  in  Denis,  and  informed  him,  in  fairly 
bad  English,  that  she  too  had  once  been  a pianist,  but  had 
ceased  to  play  in  public  when  she  married.  ‘ All  my  time  is 
taken  up  with  watching  him,’  she  said.  4 He  is  like  a great 
baby,  so  exigeant, — and  angry ! When  I am  not  there  he 
quarrels  and  quarrels  with  agents  ! I have  made  peace  for 
him  a hundred  times  ! ’ Damboise  towered  above  her,  smiling 
vastly,  and  when  she  left  them  together  he  sang  her  praises 
to  Denis  for  nearly  ten  minutes. 

‘But  I forget!’  he  cried  at  last,  striking  his  forehead 
with  his  fist.  ‘ I have  something  of  immense  importance 
to  say  to  you.  I am  going  to  give  one  more  recital — a superb 
programme — before  I go  abroad.  It  will  be  in  Queen’s  Hall, 
and  there  will  be  no  empty  seats  that  day.  There  will  be  an 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


436 

orchestra,  of  course,  but  I propose  to  dispense  with  its  help 
for  the  last  item  of  the  programme.  I shall  play  the  Kreutzer, 
by  very  special  request,  and  who,  do  you  imagine,  will  play  it 
with  me  ? ' 

Even  then,  when  all  the  world  seemed  grey  and  wretched, 
Denis  could  not  help  feeling  a thrill  of  excitement. 

‘ Ducrocq,  I suppose/  he  said.  Damboise  gave  a joyous 
laugh. 

‘ Ducrocq  has  gone  back  to  Paris/  he  said.  ‘ You  are  the 
man — you,  you!  It  will  be  superb — a triumph!  You  will 
instantly  become  famous.  Seriously,  dear  friend,  it  is  a great 
chance  for  you  to  prove  to  your  country  that  she  has  produced 
a young  pianist  of  the  highest  talent.  All  London  will  be 
there  because  of  me,  but  they  will  not  easily  forget  you. 
Don't  imagine,  however,  that  I invite  you  to  play  because  I 
have  a benevolent  soul.  I ask  you  simply  because  you  are 
the  best  man  I can  get.' 

This  was  gratifying,  thought  Denis, — at  least,  it  would  have 
been  if  it  had  not  happened  too  late,  like  everything  else.  He 
was  sufficiently  familiar  with  the  mind  of  the  London  musical 
public  to  know  that  his  appearance  with  Damboise  at  Queen's 
Hall  would  be  a safe  guarantee  of  his  future  success  ; he  would 
be  a made  man,  as  little  Sandys  asserted.  How  easy  it  was, 
after  all,  to  be  successful,  in  the  ordinary  external  sense  ; how 
difficult  to  prevent  one’s  real  life,  ‘ the  life  of  the  mind,'  from 
rushing  headlong  to  shipwreck  and  disastrous  failure  ! He 
felt  no  intense  joy  because  his  great  opportunity  had  come 
at  length  ; rapid  as  his  progress  had  been,  it  had  not  kept 
pace  with  the  swift  advance  of  disillusion,  with  the  steady 
paralysis  of  his  hope.  He  did  not,  however,  inform  Damboise 
of  these  melancholy  convictions,  but  thanked  him  with  decent 
heartiness.  Damboise  began  to  talk  of  money,  speaking  airily 
of  sums  that  seemed  almost  fabulous  to  Denis  ; he  showed 
him  a proof  of  the  programme — an  admirable  selection  which 
would  have  rejoiced  the  heart  of  the  claptrap-hating  Sandys 
— and  Denis  saw  that  his  own  name  was  already  in  print. 

4 1 rather  hoped  you  might  not  refuse ! ' Damboise  remarked : 
* you  must  send  me  a photograph  for  the  large  bills.  And 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


437 


don’t  go  hurting  your  fingers  with  your  terrible  cricket  or 
boxing,  for  this  is  a chance  in  a million  for  you, — though  I 
should  not  say  so,  I suppose.  Plenty  of  time,  too  ! we  play 
in  a month.  Enfin , that  is  settled,  is  it  not  ? ’ 

He  dismissed  the  subject  of  music,  and  introduced  Denis 
to  his  baby,  who  exactly  resembled  him,  and  to  his  wolf- 
hound, an  enormous  and  dignified  monster  which  the  baby 
treated  with  extreme  familiarity.  Madame  Damboise  en- 
treated Denis  to  stay  for  luncheon,  but  Denis  had  an  appoint- 
ment with  Landberger.  He  reiterated  his  thanks  to  Dam- 
boise, shook  hands  many  times  with  Madame,  kissed  the 
baby,  patted  the  dog,  and  at  length  managed  to  escape. 
He  did  not  feel  in  the  least  excited  by  the  prospect  of  the  great 
concert,  and  wondered  at  his  own  calmness.  Three  months 
ago,  he  knew,  he  would  have  hovered  between  hope  and  terror 
for  every  moment  of  the  day,  but  now  he  felt  nothing  but  a 
placid  resolution  to  play  his  very  best  for  Damboise’s  sake. 
He  wished  that  he  could  keep  the  engagement  a secret,  for 
there  seemed  to  be  unintentional  irony  in  the  congratulations 
that  would  be  showered  upon  him. 

He  told  the  news  to  Landberger,  however,  when  he  was 
about  to  leave  him  after  an  hour  of  work.  Landberger 
grunted  approval,  and  actually  admitted  that  Denis  had  some 
faint  perception  of  the  meaning  of  the  Kreutzer  sonata.  ‘ But 
you  do  get  such  a clammy  tone,  sometimes  ! ’ Landberger 
added.  He  did  not  seem  to  be  surprised  at  the  good  fortune 
of  Denis.  ‘ I always  thought  you  might  do  something/ 
he  said,  ‘ and  at  any  rate  you  sit  still  when  you  play ; you 
don’t  look  like  a Hungarian  gipsy  who  is  undergoing  torture. 
Only  don’t  expect  me  to  come  and  listen  to  you.  The  orches- 
tra makes  my  belly  ache.  I don’t  see  anything  funny  in 
that.  If  you  had  an  inside  like  mine  perhaps  you  wouldn’t 
laugh  at  your  elders  and  betters.  Good-morning,  sir  ! ’ 

‘ Good-morning,’  said  Denis.  ‘ I won’t  forget  to  send  you 
a ticket.’  He  knew  that  Landberger  never  missed  a chance  of 
hearing  Damboise  play. 

As  he  went  out  of  the  old  musician’s  house  he  glanced  at 
his  watch,  and  finding  that  it  was  after  one  o’clock  he  resolved 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


438 

to  take  the  Underground  to  South  Kensington.  A train  was 
standing  in  the  station  as  he  descended  the  steps,  and  he 
leapt  into  a third-class  compartment  at  the  moment  when  it 
began  to  move.  There  was  only  one  other  passenger  in  the 
compartment, — a woman  whose  face  was  concealed  by  a 
newspaper.  He  did  not  look  at  her.  A moment  later,  when 
his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  grimy  strands  of  wire  which  were 
just  visible  on  the  wall  of  the  tunnel,  he  was  greatly  startled 
to  hear  a loud,  clear  voice  exclaim,  4 Well,  I never  ! To 
think  that  we  should  meet  like  this  ! ' 

He  looked  round  quickly,  and  to  his  amazement  and 
horror  realised  that  his  travelling  companion  was  no  other 
than  Topsy — a most  resplendent  Topsy,  in  a new  hat  and  a 
short  fur  jacket.  Formerly  he  had  contemplated  the  possi- 
bility of  their  meeting  with  most  mingled  sensations,  but  now 
that  she  had  actually  reappeared,  he  felt  nothing  but  a 
violent  desire  to  get  away  from  her  presence ; he  was  afraid  to 
meet  her  eyes,  and  once  again  inwardly  cursed  his  ill-fortune. 

Topsy  displayed  no  embarrassment ; she  smiled  broadly 
and  extended  her  hand  to  be  shaken. 

‘ My  ! You  do  look  startled  ! 9 she  said.  ‘ Are  you  quite 
well  again,  Mr.  Yorke  ? There  's  some  colour  in  your  cheeks 
at  last,  but  you  're  rather  thin,  ain't  you  ? And  you 've  had 
your  hair  cut  short.  I liked  to  see  you  with  it  long  ; made 
you  seem  like  a poet,  didn’t  it  ? ' She  looked  at  him  with  a 
proprietary  air  which  embarrassed  Denis  acutely.  He  had  to 
force  himself  to  speak. 

f Where  have  you  been  all  this  time  ? ' he  asked.  His 
voice  sounded  muffled,  but  Topsy  did  not  seem  to  notice  any 
peculiarity. 

‘ In  the  country,'  she  answered,  ‘ living  among  the  ducks 
and  geese.  A friend  of  mine  married  a gentleman  with  a farm 
near  Dorking,  and  they  asked  me  to  stay  with  them  ever 
so  many  times,  so  at  last  I went.  Nice  people,  you  know, 
but  oh  ! ain't  I glad  to  be  back  in  Old  Smoky  ! It 's  like 
coming  to  life  again  after  being  dead  and  buried  ! But  you 
like  the  country,  don't  you,  Mr.  Yorke  ? I remember  you 
said  so  when  you  were  ill.' 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


439 


Thank  Heaven  ! she  was  keeping  well  within  the  bounds 
of  ordinary  conversation,  but  in  spite  of  this  Denis  was 
dreadfully  afraid  that  at  any  moment  she  might  make  some 
tender  allusion  to  that  fatal  scene.  His  experience  of  the 
mind  of  woman  was  certainly  limited.  He  noticed  that 
her  cheeks  were  red  and  plump,  her  eyes  very  bright,  and  her 
general  aspect  extremely  joyous.  She  talked  incessantly  ; 
was  anxious  to  know  if  he  admired  her  hat,  inquired  casually 
about  Rosalind  and  sarcastically  about  Miss  Amory — whom 
she  called  the  mirror  of  virtue — and  spoke  with  real  concern 
of  Grimshaw,  whom  she  had  already  seen.  She  was  so  plainly 
and  in  all  respects  the  Topsy  with  whom  he  had  conversed  so 
often  in  Noel's  studio,  that  gradually  his  embarrassment 
departed,  and  he  found  himself  answering  her  questions  in 
his  usual  voice.  He  began  to  wonder  whether  she  had 
actually  forgotten  that  strange  occasion,  or  whether,  after 
all,  she  attached  to  it  no  extraordinary  significance.  If  she 
had  forgotten  it,  certainly  he  had  no  wish  to  jog  her  memory, 
yet  he  was  surprised  to  feel  a tiny  thrill  of  annoyance  that 
she  should  be  so  callous.  There  had  been  moments  during 
the  last  few  weeks  when  he  had  thought  of  her  as  hiding 
from  every  one  whom  she  knew  in  a bitter  condition  of  shame 
and  remorse.  Obviously  she  was  quite  unrepentant,  and  had 
been  enjoying  life  even  among  the  ducks  and  geese. 

‘ It 's  jolly  to  see  you  looking  well ! ’ she  remarked. 

‘ Thanks  to  you  ! ' said  Denis.  i I shall  never  forget  your 
kindness.  I wanted  to  write,  but  no  one  knew  where  you  had 
gone.'  Topsy  made  peremptory  signals. 

‘ Stop  it ! ' she  cried.  ‘ We 've  had  all  that  before.  Mr. 
Tellier 's  the  person  to  thank.  He  would  pay  for  all  your 
medicine.  By  the  bye,  that  reminds  me  I must  go  and  see 
Mr.  Tellier  to-morrow.' 

4 I expect  he  ’ll  kill  you,’  said  Denis.  ‘ You  went  away 
just  when  he  wanted  you  badly.  He  had  to  get  a girl  called 
Jones  to  take  your  place,  and  she  wasn't  at  all  satisfactory.' 

Topsy  snorted. 

‘ Mary  Jones  ! ' she  cried  disdainfully.  ‘ That  scarecrow  ! 
I should  just  think  she  wouldn’t  be.  You  could  put  a pound 


440 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


of  sand  behind  her  collar-bones  and  never  know  it  was  there 
when  you  looked  at  her.  He  'll  have  to  find  some  one  rounder 
than  Mary  J ones  ! ' 

‘ Well,  now  that  you 've  come  back  he  'll  be  happy/ 
said  Denis.  Topsy  assumed  a mysterious  air,  pursed  up  her 
lips,  and  shook  her  head  slowly. 

‘ Don't  you  be  too  sure  about  that,  Mr.  Yorke ! ' she  said. 
And  when  Denis  asked  for  an  explanation  of  this  cryptic 
phrase,  she  looked  at  him  in  silence  for  a moment.  ‘ Can  you 
keep  a secret  ? ' she  demanded. 

Denis  hoped  that  he  could. 

‘ Well,  then,'  said  Topsy,  ‘ I '11  tell  you  one.  I 'm  not 
going  to  be  a model  any  more.  I 've  had  enough  of  shivering 
in  badly  warmed  studios.  I don't  mean  Mr.  Tellier's,  for 
he 's  been  in  Paris  and  learnt  how  to  make  a room  nice  and 
stuffy,  but  some  of  the  others  were  awful.  Mr,  Grimshaw 
used  to  let  his  stove  go  out.  Yes,  I 'm  fed-up  with  that  kind 
of  life.  I 'm  going  to  retire.' 

Denis  did  not  believe  that  she  spoke  seriously.  ‘ Where 
are  you  going  to  retire  to  ? ' he  asked.  ‘ To  the  ducks  and 
geese  ? You  'll  be  dreadfully  bored,  Topsy.' 

Topsy  looked  at  him  solemnly.  ‘ I 'm  not  joking,'  she  said  ; 
‘ straight ! I 'm  not.  It 's  a fact,  I 've  chucked  it  already, 
though  I may  give  Mr.  Tellier  a few  more  hours  for  his  picture. 
But  that,'  concluded  Topsy  darkly,  ‘ that 's  only  if  I get 
permission.  And  I dare  say  I shan't  be  able  to,  even  though 
I do  wear  clothes  in  the  picture.  Some  people  are  so  par- 
ticular, aren't  they  ? ' 

Denis  felt  bewildered  and  slightly  suspicious, — what  in  the 
world  did  she  mean  ? Could  it  be  possible  that  she  expected 
him,  as  a logical  result  of  the  scene  in  her  room,  to  support 
her  for  the  rest  of  her  life  ? This  fantastic  idea  filled  his  soul 
with  a horror  that  was  reflected  probably  in  his  face.  Topsy 
watched  him  with  a smile  that  seemed  to  him  extremely 
crafty,  and  did  not  speak  for  some  moments. 

‘ I thought  you 'd  be  surprised,'  she  said  at  length.  She 
leant  forward  towards  him,  and  was  about  to  continue 
speaking  when  the  train  entered  a resonant  length  of  tunnel. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


441 


She  waited  in  this  attitude,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  his  face, 
until  the  noise  grew  less,  and  then  went  on,  'You  look  as  if 
you  didn't  believe  it.’ 

‘ It  is  rather  surprising,'  said  Denis.  ' What  are  you  going 
to  do  instead  ? ' 

The  train  slowed  down  into  Gloucester  Road  station. 
Topsy's  face  became  wreathed  with  dimples.  ‘ Guess ! ' she 
said  archly. 

‘ Go  on  the  stage,'  suggested  Denis  feebly. 

She  shook  her  head. 

‘ Wrong ! ’ she  announced.  * Have  another,  or  give  it 
up  ? Give  it  up  ? but  promise  you  won't  tell  any  one,  Mr. 
Yorke  ? ' 

‘ Yes,'  said  Denis, 

‘ Well,  then,'  Topsy  declared,  ' I 'm  going  to  be  married.' 

For  a moment  the  foolish  Denis  was  convinced  that  this 
amazing  announcement  was  the  prelude  to  a proposal  from 
Topsy  to  himself.  Then,  as  he  realised  from  her  expression 
that  this  notion  was  wildly  absurd,  he  felt  a deep  thrill  of 
relief.  Topsy  was  watching  him  keenly,  and  suddenly  burst 
into  a laugh  which  had  an  oddly  jarring  tone. 

‘ You  look  quite  pleased,'  she  cried.  ‘ I thought  you 
would  be  ! ' she  laughed  again.  ‘ Don't  mind  me,  Mr.  Yorke,' 
she  added  after  a moment.  ' I 'm  often  taken  that  way.  Oh 
dear,  oh  dear  ! Life  is  funny,  isn't  it  ? ' 

Oddly  hard  lines  formed  round  her  mouth  and  at  the 
corners  of  her  eyes : he  had  a vision  of  what  her  face  would  be 
after  another  twenty  years.  Then,  in  an  instant,  she  was  the 
familiar,  good-natured  Topsy  of  the  studio. 

‘ I met  him  when  I was  in  the  country,'  she  said.  ‘ He  came 
to  spend  Christmas  with  my  friends.  He  works  in  London 
— he 's  a clerk  to  a surveyor  and  earns  four  pounds  a week,  and 
he 's  thirty-five  and  very  steady — not  a bit  like  an  artist. 
But  he 's  a good  sort  and  terribly  gone  on  me,  and  I 'm  tired 
of  living  alone.  He  wore  whiskers — only  tiny  ones  near 
his  ears,  and  when  he  asked  me  to  marry  him  first  I told  him 
I couldn’t  bear  them.  So  he  shaved  them  off  and  then  asked 
me  again,  and  after  a bit,  when  he 'd  promised  never  to  put 


442 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


any  more  pomade  on  his  hair,  I took  him.  He  begged  me  to 
chuck  being  a model  at  once,  and  we  ’re  to  be  married  at 
Easter.  I ’m  not  sorry,  on  the  whole.  His  Christian  name 
is  Albert,  but  though  he ’s  quiet  he ’s  no  fool.  Wait  a 
minute  and  I ’ll  show  you  his  photo.’ 

She  opened  a small  bag  which  hung  from  her  wrist  and 
produced  the  portrait  of  a commonplace  man  with  a heavy 
jaw  and  an  uncomfortable  collar.  'He’s  got  his  whiskers 
on  there,’  she  explained,  ' he  looks  twice  as  young  without 
’em.  He  would  write  that  nonsense  on  it, — do  you  see  ? — 
“ Your  loving  old  sweetheart,  Bertie.”  Silliness  I call  it, — a 
man  of  his  age  ! ’ 

Denis  inspected  the  photograph  and  returned  it  with 
thanks. 

‘ I hope  you  ’ll  be  very  happy,’  he  said. 

‘ Oh  ! we  shall  hustle  along  all  right,  don’t  you  fear  ! ’ 
said  Topsy.  ‘ I shall  miss  the  studios,  I expect,  at  first, 
but  one  can’t  go  racketing  about  alone  all  one ’s  life.  And 
if  there ’s  babies  it  ’ll  be  fun,’  concluded  Topsy  calmly. 

Denis  was  more  and  more  astonished  by  her  confidence. 
Could  she  really  be  the  girl  who  had  held  him  in  her  arms 
and  kissed  him  with  those  burning  and  tremulous  lips  ? 
Her  eyes  were  clear  and  friendly  ; there  was  no  hint  of  em- 
barrassment in  her  voice.  Women,  he  decided,  were  absolute 
mysteries ; one  might  live  as  long  as  Methuselah  without 
gaining  any  real  insight  into  the  amazing  irresponsibility  of 
their  minds.  ' If  there  are  babies  it  ’ll  be  fun,’ — how  could 
she  say  a thing  of  this  kind  to  him — to  him  of  all  people  ! 
There  was  one  possible  explanation, — she  must  have  com- 
pletely forgotten  that  scene  in  her  room.  But  she  couldn't 
have  forgotten  it ! Therefore  she  must  think  that  it  had  no 
importance.  Was  it  possible  that  it  hadn’t  ? Did  so  strange 
an  event  really  count  for  nothing  if  one  was  a healthy, 
practical  animal  like  Topsy,  with  a perfect  body  and  a desire 
for  babies  ? If  he  had  dared,  he  would  have  made  some 
allusion  to  the  scene,  merely  to  see  what  she  would  say, 
but  shyness  forbade  him.  He  was  certain,  however,  that  the 
allusion  would  have  embarrassed  her  as  little  as  a remark 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


443 

about  the  weather.  And  yet  she  continually  worshipped  her 
strange  god  of  respectability  ! 

He  was  so  much  preoccupied  by  these  speculations  that 
he  forgot  to  get  out  at  South  Kensington.  Topsy  prattled 
blithely  about  her  future  prospects,  and  was  apparently 
unaware  that  she  had  supplied  her  fellow-traveller  with 
ample  food  for  thought.  At  Sloane  Square  he  wished  her 
good-bye  as  he  stood  on  the  platform. 

‘ So  long,  Mr.  Yorke,’  she  responded  cheerfully.  ‘ We  ’re 
going  to  live  in  Battersea,  so  I dare  say  I shall  see  you  some- 
times when  I come  across  the  Bridge.  Battersea  ’ll  be  further 
away  from  London  than  ever,  won’t  it  ? ’ They  shook  hands, 
and  then,  just  as  the  train  was  starting,  she  thrust  her  head 
out  of  the  window  so  that  her  mouth  was  close  to  his  ear. 
* I don’t  really  like  him  half  as  much  as  you,’  she  said,  ‘ but 
you  understand,  don’t  you  ? That  wouldn’t  do  ! So  good- 
bye, dear ! ’ 

The  train  bore  her  away,  nodding  and  smiling.  Denis 
remained  on  the  platform  until  the  buffers  of  the  last  carriage 
had  disappeared  in  the  tunnel,  then  he  walked  slowly  to  the 
Chelsea  Embankment. 

His  emotions  were  conflicting.  She  had  gone  out  of  his 
life,  he  supposed, — a consummation  which,  in  his  calmer 
moments,  he  had  considered  eminently  desirable ; yet  though 
he  realised  that  she  had  acted  wisely,  he  was  uncomfortably 
conscious  of  having  received  a staggering  rebuff.  That 
affair  which  he  had  taken  so  seriously,  which  had  altered 
his  whole  view  of  life,  seemed  a mere  episode  to  Topsy,  and 
not  only  did  she  regard  it  as  trivial,  but  she  seemed  also 
to  assume  that  he  himself  would  take  the  same  superficial, 
material  point  of  view.  ‘ That  wouldn’t  do  ! ’ meant,  he 
supposed,  that  a repetition  of  the  scene,  a renewal  of  the 
very  brief  relations  which  had  existed  between  them,  would 
be  unpractical,  unwise.  Commonplace  convenience  dictated 
her  attitude  ; passion  was  a word  that  did  not  exist  in  her 
vocabulary,  yet  it  was  hungry,  irresistible  passion  which 
had  possessed  her  that  night, — passion  against  which  she  had 
fought  in  vain,  as  she  herself  confessed.  He  felt  that  he  was 


444 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


disappointed  in  Topsy  ) he  had  often  shrunk  from  the  prospect 
of  meeting  her  again,  but  at  least,  when  the  meeting  actually 
happened,  she  might  have  shown  a hint  of  emotion,  and  have 
realised  that  he  was  not  so  callous  as  herself.  Topsy  had 
contrived  to  give  him  a draught  of  experience  that  was  more 
bitter  than  any  of  the  medicine  which  she  formerly  ad- 
ministered at  his  bedside.  Of  course  he  didn’t  want  her  to 
care,  but  nevertheless  he  had  expected  that  she  would,  and 
the  discovery  of  her  lightness  was  a shock  to  his  self-esteem. 
He  felt  that  she  had  hurt  him  * he  also  felt  that  she  had  gone 
near  to  making  a fool  of  him.  Of  course,  it  would  be  much 
better  not  to  see  her  any  more.  He  realised  then  that  this 
remarkable  resolution  had  become  a mere  phrase  ; he  would 
give  anything  to  see  her — under  the  old  conditions.  How 
maddening  it  was,  this  perpetual  veering  round  of  one’s 
mind  ! What  was  it  that  little  Sandys  had  said  of  Noel  ? 
‘ Unstable  as  water  ’ ? Denis  knew  that  the  words  fitted  much 
more  aptly  to  himself.  His  soul,  and  not  that  of  Noel,  was 
become  ‘ a lute  on  which  all  winds  might  play.’  If  only 
he  could  be  like  his  lost  self  of  six  months  ago,  tranquil  and 
happy,  enthusiastic  about  his  work,  and  untroubled  by  the 
caprices  of  other  people  and  the  shifting  confusion  of  his 
own  mind  ! Why  had  he  changed  so  hatefully  ? Did  it 
happen  to  every  one  when  they  came  to  manhood  ? Noel 
had  escaped,  at  any  rate ; he  was  the  same  as  ever,  no  passions 
tore  his  will  to  tatters,  he  was  nearly  always  gay  and  always 
self-controlled. 

When  he  reached  home  he  found  Sandys  alone  in  the 
studio.  The  little  man,  who  was  having  luncheon,  sprang  up 
when  Denis  entered.  ‘ I ’ve  seen  Damboise ! ’ he  cried, 
‘ he  told  me  ! It ’s  splendid.  You  can  put  me  down  for 
ten  thousand  in  your  will,  for  your  fortune ’s  as  good  as 
made  ! ’ He  took  hold  of  the  flaps  of  Denis’s  coat  and  looked 
at  him  solemnly.  ‘ Don’t  you  feel  fairly  bursting  with 
excitement  ? ’ he  demanded. 

Denis  laughed.  * I ’d  almost  forgotten  about  it,’  he 
said. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


445 


* Don't  pose  ! ' cried  Sandys  shrilly,  ‘ it 's  tempting  Provi- 
dence. Do  you  know,  my  young  friend/  he  continued, 
4 that  you  're  not  only  a fairly  decent  pianist,  but  also  an 
intensely  fortunate  young  man  ? If  I,  with  my  inconsider- 
able talent,  had  had  a chance  like  this  when  I was  your  age, 
I should  now  be  fat  and  famous.  Imagine,  then,  what  you 
ought  to  be  when  you  're  as  old  as  I am  ! ' 

‘ How  old  are  you  ? ' asked  Denis,  beginning  to  eat. 

‘ Thirty-three,'  Sandys  answered. 

‘ Through  Life's  dull  path , so  dim  and  dirty, 

I have  dragged  on  to  three-and- thirty. 

It 's  a beautiful  age,  mellow  and  smooth,  like  a plum  that 
is  ripe  but  still  keeps  its  bloom.  You  'll  be  a better  man 
when  you  reach  it,  Denis.' 

‘ Oh  ! I shan't  live  to  be  as  old  as  that ! ' said  Denis  with 
deep  conviction.  ‘ At  least  I hope  not.' 

‘ Tush  ! ' said  Sandys.  ‘ Why  not,  indeed  ? You  're 
young,  beautiful  and  accomplished,  with  no  vices  and  good 
health,  and  you  take  a cold  bath  every  morning  and  smoke  a 
pipe.  You  'll  live  till  ninety,  and  you  ought  to  rejoige  at 
the  prospect.  Sixty  years  of  masterpieces,  mon  enfant , — quoi  ? 9 

‘ I 'm  a failure,'  said  Denis  gloomily,  and  poured  himself 
a glass  of  beer.  Sandys  began  to  laugh. 

‘ You  're  not,'  he  said.  ‘ You  're  only  a young  idiot,  and 
you  're  angling  for  compliments.  I won't  talk  to  you  any 
more.  Where 's  Noel  ? Why  doesn't  he  come  to  look  after 
his  shy  guest  ? He  asked  me  to  lunch  here.' 

But  a few  minutes  later  they  heard  Noel's  step  on  the 
stairs.  He  entered  the  studio,  stared  at  them  without 
smiling,  and  passed  into  his  tiny  bedroom.  Sandys  turned  to 
Denis. 

‘ Hullo  ! ' he  remarked.  4 What 's  the  matter  with  our 
Noel  ? He  looks  as  if  he  were  cherishing  a viper  in  his 
bosom.  His  ruddy  countenance  is  grim  with  thought.  Do 
you  think  he 's  engaged  to  be  married  ? Once  or  twice  lately 
he  has  seemed  actually  depressed.' 

* I expect  he 's  hungry,'  said  Denis.  Noel  came  in  a 


446 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


moment  later  and  sat  down  at  the  table  without  a word. 
Little  Sandys  addressed  him  with  elaborate  and  formal 
phrases,  but  Noel  ignored  him  completely,  and  sitting  stiffly 
upright  at  the  table,  glowered  at  the  wall  beyond  him.  Sandys 
refused  to  regard  this  strange  behaviour  as  anything  except 
a joke  on  the  part  of  Noel,  and  continued  to  babble  nonsense. 
Denis,  however,  when  he  looked  at  his  friend,  realised  that 
something  serious  had  happened.  Noel's  face  seemed  almost 
distorted,  and  his  eyes  had  a queer  expression  which  recalled 
to  the  boy  the  memory  of  that  night  in  the  school  sanatorium 
when  Noel  had  received  the  news  of  his  mother's  death. 
What  on  earth  had  happened  to  him  ? Had  Noel,  after 
all,  some  secret  trouble  which  had  suddenly  become  in- 
tolerable ? 

‘ Noel,  what 's  wrong  ? ' he  asked  gently. 

Noel  lqoked  at  him  with  dull  eyes. 

‘ You  '11  find  out  soon  enough,'  he  said.  He  tried  to 
eat,  but  it  was  obvious  that  the  food  almost  choked  him. 
Sandys  persisted  insanely  in  his  belief  that  Noel  was  playing 
a part. 

1 He 's  having  us  on,  Denis,'  he  said  ; * don't  you  encourage 
him.  Very  well  done,  old  man,  but  we  know  your  wily  ways. 
We  aren't  going  to  be  frightened.'  He  was  astonished  the 
next  moment,  however,  for  Noel,  after  glaring  at  him  like  a 
maddened  lion,  suddenly  struck  him  in  the  chest  with  all 
the  force  of  his  big  arm.  Sandys  reeled  back  in  his  chair  with 
a loud  gasp,  and  Noel  immediately  began  to  look  extremely 
ashamed  of  himself. 

‘ I 'm  awfully  sorry,  Archibald,'  he  said,  ‘ I beg  your 
pardon.  But  I simply  can't  stand  your  rotting  to-day. 
I 've  had  some  news, — beastly  news.'  He  held  out  his  hand 
to  Sandys,  who  shook  it  violently. 

* I beg  your  pardon,  old  fellow,'  said  the  little  man,  who 
was  still  rather  breathless.  ‘ I was  a fool  not  to  see  that 
you  were  serious.  I hope — if  you  don't  mind  me  saying  so — 
that  it 's  nothing  very  bad  ? ' 

‘ Oh  ! I don't  suppose  you  '11  think  it  bad,'  Noel  replied 
in  a tone  of  extraordinary  bitterness  ; ‘ it 's  just  knocked 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


447 


all  the  bottom  out  of  my  life,  that 's  all/  He  gulped  down 
some  whisky  and  soda.  It  was  the  first  time  since  his 
schooldays  that  Denis  had  heard  him  make  any  serious 
reference  to  his  own  affairs.  * There  isn't  any  reason  why 
you  should  think  it  bad,'  he  added,  in  a slightly  defiant 
tone. 

They  stared  at  him  blankly,  and  then  Sandys  turned  a 
face  full  of  alarmed  interrogation  towards  Denis.  Denis 
shook  his  head.  Perhaps  Noel  observed  and  was  irritated 
by  these  gestures,  for  after  a few  moments  of  silence  he 
pushed  his  chair  violently  from  the  table  and  spoke. 

‘ I may  as  well  tell  you/  he  said.  ‘ You  're  bound  to 
know  soon — every  one  seems  to  know  already — and  you  had 
better  hear  it  from  me  than  from  some  damned  scandal- 
monger. Grimshaw  went  to  Italy  yesterday,  and  Rosalind 
went  with  him.' 


448 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


XLVI 

THIS  curt  announcement  was  followed  by  absolute 
silence.  Noel  rose,  and  slowly  filled  a pipe  from  the 
tobacco- jar  on  the  mantelpiece,  and  Denis  watched  each  of  his 
movements  with  the  strange  interest  in  trivial  things  that  we 
affect  when  some  great  catastrophe  has  befallen  us  of  which 
we  are  afraid  to  think.  He  tried  to  fight  against  a full 
realisation  of  the  meaning  of  Noel’s  words,  to  shut  out  their 
sense  from  his  brain,  to  imagine  even  that  they  had  not  been 
uttered.  But  gradually  the  truth  forced  itself  through  all 
the  feeble  obstacles  which  he  hurled  in  its  way  ; .tracking  him 
down  like  an  assassin  in  a nightmare,  and  overtaking  him 
hatefully  at  last. 

Rosalind  had  gone  ; she  had  given  herself,  body  and  soul, 
to  the  man  who  could  never  marry  her  ; she  was  his  willing 
victim,  and  for  his  sake  had  sacrificed  her  honour  in  a sordid 
elopement.  In  spite  of  his  deep  distrust  of  Grimshaw, 
Denis  had  never  dreamed  that  such  a horrible  event  could 
happen  ; she  had  seemed  to  him  always  superbly  remote 
from  anything  base  or  ugly  ; his  ideal  of  her  shone  per- 
petually with  the  pure  radiance  of  a star.  But  now  his  last 
illusion  had  faded  ; the  star  had  fallen  headlong  into  the 
murky  waters  of  passion,  the  ideal  was  besmirched  for  ever. 
He  stared  blankly  at  Noel,  and  Noel  spoke  to  him  in  a 
harsh  voice.  ‘ Don’t  look  at  me  like  that ! ’ he  almost 
shouted. 

Then  a strange  thing  happened.  Little  Sandys,  who  had 
also  been  staring  at  Noel,  suddenly  dropped  his  face  into 
his  hands  and  began  to  cry  like  a child,  sobbing  noisily  and 
absurdly.  Noel  sprang  up  and  shook  him  roughly. 

‘ Don’t  make  a damned  ass  of  yourself  ! ’ he  said  furiously. 
Sandys  looked  up  at  him,  and  Denis  saw  that  tears  were 
trickling  down  his  cheeks.  * You  fool,  you  sentimental  little 


THE  FIRST  ROUND  449 

fool ! * Noel  cried,  continuing  to  shake  him.  Sandys  uttered 
a stifled  groan. 

‘ I know  I am/  he  said  ? * I know, — but  I can't  help  it. 
I — I loved  her  myself.  Grimshaw — of  all  people  ! My  God, 
my  God  ! 9 He  began  to  sob  again. 

€ Oh,  shut  up,  do  ! 9 cried  Noel,  with  intense  exasperation. 
* I dare  say  you  did,  and  very  likely  I did  too,  but  I don't 
snivel  like  a cow  that  has  lost  its  calf.  You  think  about 
nothing  but  your  own  miserable  little  soul ; think  of  her  ! 
Think  what  it  means  to  her  ! You  don't  matter  ! ' 

‘ I always  knew  that  I didn't,'  said  poor  Sandys,  drying  his 
eyes.  ‘ But  do  you  mean  to  say  that  you — you  too ? ' 

* Oh,  shut  up  ! ' reiterated  Noel.  ‘ You 'd  better  go  away  * 
you 've  made  a beast  of  yourself.  I don't  matter  either,  but 
at  any  rate  I 'll  kill  that  brute.  She 's  been  hypnotised  \ he 
carried  her  off  by  force ; she  never  cared  for  him — in  that 
way.  But  I 'll  hunt  him  down  ! ' 

And  then  Denis  began  to  laugh  quietly,  so  that  they 
both  thought  he  was  mad.  The  grotesque  and  indecently 
farcical  aspect  of  the  situation  dawned  upon  him  suddenly  \ 
the  abrupt  revelation  that  Noel  and  Sandys  were  in  a condition 
precisely  similar  to  his  own  seemed  the  enormous  jest  of  an 
ironical  Fate.  What  fools  they  were, — Sandys  with  his  tears, 
Noel  with  his  noisy  threats,  and  he  himself  with  his  shattered 
ideal ! None  of  them  was  worthy  of  her,  none  had  been 
strong  enough  to  wrest  her  from  Grimshaw  ; she  had  found 
a lover — a real  lover,  not  a half-hearted  mute  adorer — and 
had  chosen  him  in  defiance  of  the  world.  She  had  done 
well  \ the  present  scene  was  a proof  of  that ! Grimshaw,  if 
he  had  been  in  any  of  their  places,  would  not  have  snivelled, 
or  raved  ridiculously,  or  felt  completely  crushed  by  Fate  ; 
he  would  have  acted,  calmly,  quietly,  without  hesitating.  He 
was  not  one  of  ‘ the  little  lovers  who  curse  and  cry.'  Oh  ! 
she  had  chosen  wisely, — she  had  always  been  wise ! They 
were  the  fools,  the  fluctuating,  the  uncertain, — and  she  had 
known  it  instinctively. 

He  became  conscious  that  Noel  was  glaring  at  him  with 
undisguised  malevolence. 


450 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


‘ Funny,  isn’t  it  ? ’ Noel  said.  1 Just  the  kind  of  thing 
to  make  you  laugh,  isn’t  it  ? ’ The  exterior  corners  of  his 
eyes  seemed  to  be  elevated  like  those  of  a Chinese  ; his  teeth 
shone  behind  his  moustache.  The  memory  of  the  day  in  the 
sanatorium  came  back  more  vividly  than  ever  to  Denis. 
How  strange  it  was  that  Noel,  whom  he  had  lately  regarded 
as  the  most  tranquil  and  self-controlled  of  persons,  should 
break  out  in  this  extraordinary  way,  should  behave,  really, 
with  an  abandonment  as  ridiculous  as  that  of  Sandys ! 
Perhaps  Noel  realised  that  there  was  a certain  critical  expres- 
sion in  the  boy’s  face,  for  he  spoke  with  increasing  vehemence. 
4 It ’s  all  very  well  for  you  to  sit  there  looking  like  the  calm 
and  judicial  little  prig  that  you  are  ! ’ he  cried.  ‘ You  don’t 
care  a curse  what  becomes  of  her,  do  you  ? You  ’re  just 
interested,  and  rather  shocked.  I used  to  think  that  you 
were  going  to  turn  into  a decent  sort  of  fellow,  but  I see  now 
that  you  ’re  a prig,  a prig,  and  a finicking  little  egotist ! All 
you  care  for  is  your  beastly  self  and  your  beastly  music.  You 
chucked  your  old  father  as  soon  as  you  decently  could,  and 
now,  I suppose,  you  see  that  it ’s  time  to  chuck  Rosalind,  and 
then  you  ’ll  chuck  Sandys  and  me.  You  think  we  ’ve  made 
asses  of  ourselves, — I can  see  it  in  your  face.  So  we  have,  but 
you  ought  to  feel  damned  sorry  because  you  haven’t  made  an 
ass  of  yourself  too,  and  never  will,  but  are  just  a cold-blooded, 
mercenary,  heartless  little  worm.  You  had  your  suspicions, 
hadn’t  you,  that  this  might  happen  ? I remember  the  way 
you  kept  on  asking  questions, — and  now  I suppose  you  ’ll 
go  telling  every  one  that  you  suspected  it  from  the  first. 
Such  a pity,  isn’t  it,  that  a nice  girl  should  throw  her  bonnet 
over  the  mills  in  that  way  ? Don’t  look  at  me  as  if  I was  an 
acrobat  in  a music-hall ! You  make  me  ill.  You  ’re  worse 
than  Sandys.’ 

Denis  bore  the  brunt  of  this  amazing  attack  with  patience. 
Noel  was  evidently  half  mad  with  irritation.  Sandys,  how- 
ever, who  had  partially  recovered,  came  to  his  rescue. 

‘ Let  him  alone,’  he  said.  ‘ I dare  say  he  feels  it  nearly 
as  much  as  we  do,  though  he  doesn’t,  as  you  say,  make  an  ass 
of  himself.  After  all,’  he  added  with  a pale  smile,  ‘ every  one 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


45i 


in  the  world  wasn’t  in  love  with  her,  you  know.’  This 
remark,  for  some  strong  reason,  irritated  Denis  more  than  all 
the  insults  that  Noel  had  heaped  upon  him. 

‘ Well,  I was,  if  you  must  know  ! ’ he  retorted.  Noel  stared 
at  him. 

‘ You,  you  little  whipper-snapper  ! ’ he  said  rudely. 

‘ Yes,  I was,’  said  Denis,  ‘ and  I told  her  so,  too,  which  was 
more  than  either  of  you  had  the  pluck  to  do.  And  she  told 
me  about  Grimshaw.’ 

They  both  stared  at  him. 

‘ She  told  you  about  Grimshaw  ? ’ cried  Noel.  ‘ Why  on 
earth  didn’t  you  say  something, — to  me,  to  any  one  ? ’ 

‘ When  I began  to  you  told  me  I was  a prig,’  Denis  answered. 
Noel  turned  away  ; his  rage  seemed  to  have  died  suddenly. 

‘ You  see,  we  ’re  all  in  the  same  boat ! ’ said  Sandys  with 
a doleful  squeak.  ' What  are  we  going  to  do  ? ’ 

Noel  did  not  answer,  but  Denis  spoke  after  a short  silence. 

' Nothing,’  he  said. 

‘ Oh  ! we  must  do  something  ! ’ said  little  Sandys  earnestly. 

‘ Perhaps  Noel  will  be  able  to  persuade  her  to  leave  him.’ 

‘ It ’s  likely,  isn’t  it,  when  she  loves  him  ? ’ said  Denis. 
‘ And  if  he  managed  to  persuade  her,  what  good  would  it  do  ? 
She  would  go  on  loving  him  still.  Even  if  he  dies  she  will  go 
on  loving  him.  I don’t  believe  that  you  understand  her  a bit. 
I don’t  either,  but  I know  that  she  won’t  change.’ 

‘ Oh,  you  know  such  a lot ! ’ growled  Noel,  pulling  hard 
at  his  unkindled  pipe.  But  his  rage  had  exhausted  itself, 
and  soon  he  spoke  almost  calmly.  ‘ Even  now,’  he  said,  ‘ I 
wouldn’t  care  if  I thought  she  would  be  happy.  But  she 
can’t  be  happy  ; she ’s  the  last  person  in  the  world  to  stand  a 
— a situation — of  that  kind  for  long.  Suppose  she  meets 
people  in  Italy  who  know  all  about  her  and  insult  her  ! 
It ’s  quite  likely  • it ’s  bound  to  happen.  And  he ’s  a beast ; 
he  never  was  straight  with  women ; he  ’ll  desert  her,  or 
hit  her  when  he ’s  drunk.  It ’s  a loathsome  business ! ’ 
He  dropped  unconsciously  into  the  intonation  of  his  school- 
days. 

‘ I don’t  think  that  will  happen,  Noel,’  said  little  Sandys 


452  THE  FIRST  ROUND 

solemnly.  ‘ You  must  remember  that  he 's  practically  a 
dying  man.’ 

‘ Yes,  and  I hope  he  will  die  ! ' said  Noel  vindictively. 

4 And  when  he  dies,  what  will  become  of  her  ? She  can't 
come  back  here  ; she  'll  have  to  wander  about  Europe  alone, 
year  after  year.  All  her  friends  will  cut  her.  You  should 
have  heard  the  things  Amory  said,  and  Amory  always  pre- 
tended to  be  superior  to  the  conventions.  It 's  Amory's 
fault,  a great  deal.  She  knew  what  was  going  on,  and  all  the 
time  she  used  to  prate  about  their  beautiful  friendship, — 
Rosalind's  and  his,  I mean.' 

Sandys  had  a sudden  idea. 

‘ Look  here  ! ' he  cried  excitedly.  ‘ Suppose  that  we  're 
all  wrong ! Suppose  that  she  only  went  with  him  from  pity — 
just  to  nurse  him  ! She  must  know  that  he 's  dying ; she 
wouldn't  go  and  throw  her  reputation  and  all'  that  to  the 
winds  just  for  the  sake  of  living  with  a fellow  in  that  hopeless 
state  for  a few  weeks.  I believe  she  has  gone  merely  to 
look  after  him,  and  never  bothered  to  realise  that  people 
might  talk.  It  would  be  just  like  her,  and  I don't  know 
why  I didn't  think  of  it  before.  I believe  that 's  what  has 
happened  ; and  if  it  is,  we  're  a pretty  trio  of  fools  ! If 
he  dies,  I believe  that  she  'll  come  back  and  be  utterly  aston- 
ished to  find  that  any  one  thinks  that  she  has  acted  strangely. 
And  if  he  doesn't  die,  she  '11  leave  him  as  soon  as  he  is  better, 
or  make  Miss  Amory  and  you  go  out  and  join  her.  I feel 
certain  that  will  happen  ! ' 

This  laboriously  constructed  theory  seemed  actually  to 
impress  Noel.  4 It 's  just  possible,'  he  said  slowly,  and  lit 
his  pipe.  The  face  of  Sandys  began  to  resume  its  normal 
serenity.  Denis  felt  a profound  contempt  for  both  of  them. 
How  could  they  dupe  themselves  with  such  a fantastic  idea  ? 
He  himself,  after  all,  was  the  only  one  who  had  any  insight 
into  Rosalind’s  motives  ; it  was  passion,  not  pity,  that  had 
driven  her  to  go  with  Grimshaw,  and  when  he  died  she  would 
die  too  ; she  might  live  on,  in  the  literal  sense,  but  she  would 
be  dead  to  everything  in  the  world  except  them  emory  of  the 
man  whom  she  had  loved.  Denis  realised  the  meaning  of 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


453 


that  reserve  of  quiet  strength  which  he  had  always  known  her 
to  possess  ; she  had  used  it  at  last,  and  nothing  would  make 
her  waver  or  falter.  Friends,  the  world,  and  even  Death 
would  hurl  themselves  in  vain  against  that  barrier  of  iron 
steadfastness  and  golden  love.  Noel  and  Sandys,  however, 
seemed  to  have  no  idea  of  its  existence,  and  babbled  of  the 
conventions  like  a pair  of  old  women  in  a country  parsonage  ! 
How  limited  and  respectable  they  were,  these  artists  who 
imagined  themselves  to  be  so  grandly  aloof  from  the  rules  and 
dogmas  of  earth  ! 

Sandys  spoke  again,  with  a funnily  important  air.  ‘ The 
more  I think  of  it,  the  more  I ’m  convinced  that  I ’m  right ! ’ 
he  said.  ‘ But  of  course  that  only  makes  it  all  the  more  neces- 
sary that  we  should  do  something,  doesn’t  it  ? ’ 

Denis  turned  upon  him  almost  angrily. 

‘ Why  ? ’ he  demanded.  Sandys  waved  a hand  vaguely  in 
the  air. 

4 To  protect  her  from  her  own  thoughtlessness — her  beauti- 
ful thoughtlessness ! ’ he  explained.  Then  he  stared  in 
amazement  at  Denis.  The  boy  seemed  suddenly  to  have 
become  a man  ; he  spoke  calmly,  with  authority,  and  there 
was  a strange  gravity  in  his  face. 

‘ Don’t  you  see,’  he  said,  ‘ that  you  oughtn’t  to  dare  to 
talk  in  that  patronising  way  ? Don’t  you  see  that  we  haven’t 
— any  of  us — the  least  right  to  interfere  ? She  has  been 
wise — she  always  was  wise — and  we  have  been  fools  \ she ’s 
happy,  and  just  because  we  ’re  disappointed  we  think  we  can 
meddle  with  her  happiness.  Several  times  lately  you ’ve 
told  me  I ’m  a prig,’  he  went  on,  turning  to  Noel,  ‘ but  I 
believe  I ’m  the  only  one  of  us  who  realises  that  her  happiness 
is  the  only  thing  that  matters, — Oh  yes ! You  talked  about 
it,  but  you  weren’t  really  thinking  of  it ! You  were  only 
scoring  off  us.  I loved  her  and  I don’t  love  Grimshaw,  but  I 
do  believe  that  I ’m  beginning  to  see  that  she  has  done  the 
right  thing,  the  only  possible  thing  for  her.’  He  paused 
and  met  their  eyes  steadily.  Little  Sandys  flung  up  his  hands 
in  a gesture  of  despair. 

‘ And  you  said  you  were  in  love  with  her  ! ’ he  wailed. 


454 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


Noel  scowled  at  Denis.  ‘ You  may  not  be  a moral  prig/ 
he  said,  4 but  you  're  an  intellectual  one.  You  're  interested 
now,  really,  in  nothing  but  the  workings  of  your  own  little 
mind.  You  think  you  've  found  a noble  attitude  of  re- 
nunciation/ 

‘ I don't  care  ; I 'm  beginning  to  understand  things,'  Denis 
answered  doggedly.  And  this  was  true.  The  bewildering 
darkness  that  had  oppressed  his  soul  was  gradually  drifting 
away  before  a strange  new  light ; he  felt  as  if  he  had  grown 
old  in  a few  moments,  and  that  he  was  able  to  look  at  all 
that  had  happened  clearly  and  steadily  ; to  weigh  every  point 
in  the  scale  of  hopeless,  impartial  reason.  He  had  escaped 
from  himself, — he  no  longer  saw  the  event  through  the  dis- 
torting medium  of  his  own  desires,  but  surveyed  it,  at  last, 
absolutely,  with  the  calm  eyes  of  a sympathetic  stranger. 
His  idea  that  Rosalind  had  changed  was  revealed  in  all  its 
disloyal  absurdity.  She  was  the  same  Rosalind — the  Rosa- 
lind that  he  had  loved  since  childhood — and  this  act  of  hers 
was  not  the  result  of  a mad  impulse,  but  the  inevitable  ex- 
pression of  all  the  faithfulness  and  splendour  of  her  heart. 
The  mundane  aspect  of  the  affair,  which  had  hurt  him  at 
first  and  appeared  to  dominate  all  the  thoughts  of  Noel  and 
Sandys,  was  a fiction  of  their  unworthy  imaginations  and  had 
no  real  existence.  Nothing  base  could  live  where  she  was  ; 
like  the  princess  of  old,  whose  whiteness  healed  the  sick  and 
restored  vigour  to  the  halt  and  the  maimed,  her  presence 
sanctified  all  that  foolish  and  short-sighted  people  thought 
sordid  or  doubtful ; she  would  be  right  in  all  conditions,  for 
she  was  wise  because  of  her  strength,  and  strong  because  she 
was  true-hearted.  She  had  not  wasted  her  intense  vitality  on 
a thousand  trivial  things,  but  had  realised  it  all  in  this  great, 
and,  for  her,  inevitable  action.  Oh  ! she  was  right,  she  was 
right ! Whatever  happened  hereafter,  she  had  made  a success 
of  life  ! She  had  flown  into  the  sun,  and  left  them  all — 
Noel,  Sandys,  and  himself — burrowing  like  moles  in  earthy 
darkness.  Love  was  the  one  thing  in  the  world  that  made 
life  worth  living  ; success  and  friendship,  even  art,  he  knew 
only  too  well  now,  were  pale  phantoms  beside  its  radiance. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


455 

Rosalind,  also,  after  a little  while,  had  learnt  this  truth  \ 
she  had  ignored  prudence  and  the  world’s  scorn,  and  turned 
towards  love,  instinctively,  irrevocably,  for  she  was  great  of 
soul. 

But  when  he  thought  of  himself,  realising  at  last  the 
full  extent  of  his  loss,  the  new  light  seemed  to  desert  him, 
and  he  seemed  to  contemplate  his  own  failure  through  a 
mist  of  self-pitying  tears.  His  hardly  won  manliness  was 
not  proof  against  that  deplorable  spectacle,  but  at  any 
rate  he  knew  that  he  had  never  been  worthy  of  her  ; that,  as 
she  had  said,  he  had  not  understood  • and  the  fact  that  it 
was  his  revelation  to  Grimshaw  which  had  sent  her  lover  back 
to  her  did  not  seem  to  him,  as  it  would  have  seemed  a short 
time  before,  another  hideous  instance  of  tragic  irony.  It 
was  appropriate  ; he  had  played  his  tiny  part  in  the  drama  ; 
in  his  little  way  he  had  helped  her.  If  Noel  could  have 
known  his  thoughts  at  that  moment,  he  would  have  been 
obliged  to  admit  more  than  ever  that  Denis  was  ‘ getting 
on.’ 

Noel,  however,  was  concerned  at  present  with  the  thoughts 
of  no  one  except  himself.  He  maintained  a gloomy  silence, 
and  paced  up  and  down  the  room  ; at  last  he  took  up  a palette 
and  some  brushes  and  began  to  paint.  Little  Sandys  sat 
staring  into  vacancy  with  his  mournful  eyes,  and  occasionally 
made  some  remark  that  was  sufficiently  fatuous.  ‘ I must  be 
right ! ’ he  kept  on  saying  ; ‘ it ’s  impossible  that  she  could 
really  elope.’  ‘ She  would  know  how  it  would  hurt  us  all.’ 
For  some  time  Denis  made  no  response  to  these  ejaculations. 
At  last,  when  Sandys  began  to  discuss  the  possibility  of  the 
truants  being  in  Rome,  Florence,  or  on  the  Riviera,  he  lost 
patience  and  lifted  up  his  voice. 

‘ What ’s  the  use  of  thinking  about  that  ? ’ he  said  • ‘ un- 
less you  intend  to  go  and  denounce  them  to  the  English 
chaplain  of  the  town  where  they  happen  to  be  j and  what ’s 
the  use  of  talking  about  her  motive  for  going  ? Whatever  it 
was,  you  may  be  quite  certain  that  she  won’t  ever  look  at  any 
of  us,  whether  we  think  her  good  or  wicked.  We  ’re  nothing 
more  than  friends,  and  never  shall  be.  She ’s  gone  beyond 


456  THE  FIRST  ROUND 

us.  We  ’re  little,  and  she ’s  great.  She  couldn’t  think  of  us — 
in  that  way.’ 

Noel  actually  endorsed  this  oracular  utterance.  1 He ’s 
right,’  he  said  to  Sandys  • * though  of  course  he  really  thinks 
that  he ’s  not  so  little  as  we  are  by  a long  shot.’  He  painted 
vigorously  for  some  moments,  and  then  added,  * We  may  as 
well  drop  the  subject.  Talking  does  no  good.’ 

‘ But  aren’t  you  going  to  do  anything  ? ’ cried  Sandys. 

Noel  stared  fiercely  at  his  picture. 

‘ No,’  he  answered. 

Sandys  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  looked  at  Denis. 

‘ Aren’t  you  ? ’ he  said. 

‘ I ’m  going  to  work,’  said  Denis.  And  he  went  to  his 
room.  But  he  did  no  work  for  the  remainder  of  that  day. 
A sterner  task  than  music  was  in  store  for  his  soul. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


457 


XLVII 

IT  was  to  music,  however,  that  he  turned  for  consolation 
in  the  dark  days  which  followed  that  crude  and  violent 
scene.  He  worked  at  Beethoven  with  Damboise  during  the 
mornings,  and  spent  the  afternoon  and  evening  hours  at  his 
own  piano,  playing  everything  that  he  had  learnt  since  early 
childhood,  and  finding  a melancholy  luxury  in  the  memories 
evoked  by  that  long  procession  of  sweet  sound.  Nights  at 
the  Red  House,  late  afternoons  in  the  chilly,  vault-like 
practice-cells  at  school,  came  back  to  his  mind  with  an  almost 
supernatural  vividness ; sometimes,  as  he  played,  he  felt 
certain  that  his  father  was  sitting  behind  him,  dozing  over 
the  paper  in  the  broad  circle  of  lamplight,  or  that  he  could  hear 
the  heavy  booming  of  the  great  bell  that  hung  above  the 
entrance  to  the  quadrangle.  The  simplest  pieces  of  music, 
at  which  he  had  toiled  so  painfully  when  he  was  no  more 
than  five  years  old,  had  their  subtle  message  for  him  ; time 
seemed  to  have  lent  the  gayest  of  them  a strange  pathos, — 
something  of  the  pathos,  perhaps,  which  we  feel  when  we 
look  on  the  toys  used  by  babies  in  Greece  two  thousand  years 
ago,  or  the  delicate  fan  which  remains  when  the  white  hand 
that  fluttered  it  so  daintily  has  long  since  crumbled  to  dust. 
They  seemed  to  be  the  voice  of  his  dead  self  speaking  from 
the  twilight  of  a past  that  had  lately  grown  immeasurably 
remote.  And  his  father's  voice  was  there  also.  But  when 
he  turned  from  them  to  Bach  and  Beethoven  it  was  the 
atmosphere  of  Parnasse  that  surrounded  him  completely,  and 
every  detail  of  the  hours  that  he  passed  in  the  old  studio 
rose  before  him  as  he  played.  A shadowy  Rosalind  danced 
for  him  with  castanets  and  swaying  pigtail ; he  could  even 
remember  the  arrangement  of  the  colours  in  her  plaid  frock, 
and  the  funny  way  she  had  of  coiling  up  her  toes  when  he  tried 
to  replace  the  shoes  which  had  fallen  off  her  feet.  Mr.  Duroy 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


458 

leant  over  his  shoulder,  humming  like  an  immense  and 
melodious  bee,  and  marking  the  time  with  a large  forefinger. 
When  he  played  some  old  accompaniments  which  he  found 
amongst  his  music  he  could  hear  the  violin  buzzing  behind 
him,  or  the  voice  which  sang  so  softly,  so  perfectly.  And  one 
song,  above  all  others,  returned  to  haunt  him,  mingled  with 
the  dim  notes  of  an  ancient  lute. 

Et  s’il  veut  s avoir  pour quoi 

La  salle  est  deserte  f 

— Montrez-lui  la  la7>ipe  eteinte , 

Et  la  porte  ouverte  . . . 

The  familiar  words  came  back  to  him  with  a new  and 
startling  poignancy.  Yet  he  was  able  once  more  to  think  of 
Parnasse  without  any  bitterness  of  regret  * it  had  played  its 
part  fully  in  their  lives  ; its  influence  would  be  with  them 
always.  Surely,  he  thought,  the  chief  consolation  of  human 
existence  was  to  be  found  in  the  fact,  that  when  we  look 
back  on  the  past  we  remember,  to  use  the  commonplace 
phrase,  only  the  pleasant  things  ; the  memory  of  ugly  environ- 
ments becomes  blurred  ; that  of  happy  scenes  is  abiding,  and 
grows  clearer  with  time.  His  painful  servitude  at  Boulter's 
office  and  the  last  hateful  months  at  the  Red  House  had  left, 
he  found,  no  sharp  impression  on  his  mind,  but  the  details 
of  earlier  days,  when  he  had  roamed  the  hills  in  happy  solitude, 
and  was  not  yet  estranged  from  his  father,  returned  to  him 
again  and  again.  Sometimes  he  felt  strangely  certain  that 
his  old  self,  which  had  played  its  part  in  all  these  recurring 
scenes,  was  dead,  and  that  his  new  self  was  still  unborn. 
The  news  of  Rosalind's  departure  made  his  former  life  seem 
like  a chapter  that  was  ended,  and  though  he  continued  to 
work  in  his  usual  manner  and  made  no  alteration  of  any 
kind  in  his  actual  existence,  he  was  haunted  perpetually  by 
the  impression  that  he  was  about  to  become  a new  person, 
that  an  epoch  in  his  life  had  come  to  a close  as  completely 
as  if  he  had  died.  The  sudden  shock  of  that  piece  of  news, 
the  slow  realisation  that  Rosalind  had,  as  Dr.  Yorke  used  to 
say,  been  true  to  herself  in  acting  as  she  did,  seemed  to  have 
wrought  some  miraculous  change  in  him  ; he  was  not  happy. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


459 


but  he  was  no  longer  desponding  or  petulant ; he  was  not 
hopeful,  but  he  felt  grimly  determined  to  press  on,  to  wrestle 
with  the  world,  to  get  a little  nearer  the  secret  which  had 
made  Rosalind’s  life  so  successful,  whilst  its  absence  had  been 
the  cause  of  his  own  miserable  failure.  He  saw  things  clearly 
now.  A shallow  observer  would  say,  of  course,  that  he, 
with  his  musical  triumphs,  was  the  success,  and  she,  with 
her  ruined  reputation,  the  failure ; but  he  knew  that  a 
judgment  of  this  kind  was  wickedly  superficial.  She  only  had 
triumphed  ; she  would  triumph  always,  for  there  was  some 
strange  quality  in  her  soul  which  made  her  distinguish 
infallibly  between  the  essential  and  the  trivial.  She  under- 
stood ! She  had  a wisdom  that  was  beyond  all  the  theories 
of  sages  ’ she  would  always  be  right.  Long  ago,  at  Parnasse, 
he  had  been  dimly  conscious  of  the  presence  in  her  of  this 
mysterious  quality.  He  was  certain  now  that  unless  he  could 
discover  the  secret  his  second  round  with  life  would  be  as 
great  a failure  as  the  first.  Unstable  as  water,  the  plaything 
of  every  veering  wind — that  was  the  history  of  all  the  days  of 
his  boyhood. 

The  experience  had  left  its  mark  on  Noel  also.  When  once 
his  fiery  anger  had  burnt  itself  out,  he  became  more  thoughtful, 
more  gentle,  even,  than  had  ever  seemed  possible.  He  never 
spoke  of  Rosalind,  and  a fortnight  elapsed  before  he  made 
any  allusion  to  the  scene  in  the  studio.  One  morning,  how- 
ever, he  entered  Denis’s  room,  and  without  any  preliminary 
remarks,  apologised  very  quietly  and  humbly  for  everything 
that  he  had  said. 

‘ I was  mad,  I suppose/  he  added  ; ‘ the  whole  place  turned 
crimson.  But  even  then  I didn’t  mean  any  of  the  things  I 
said  to  you  and  Archibald.  I deliberately  thought  of  the 
beastliest  lies  that  I could  heave  at  you.  It  was  his  crying 
that  did  it  ■ when  I see  a man  cry  it  makes  me  want  to  run 
amok.  You  aren’t  a prig,  mon  Denis  ; you  ’re  the  only  one  of 
us  that  had  an  atom  of  sense.’ 

He  left  the  room  abruptly.  Not  until  many  months  had 
elapsed  did  he  tell  Denis  how  he  had  received  a letter  from 
Rosalind  that  morning.  A day  or  two  later  he  returned  to 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


460 

the  studio  with  an  old  friend, — Narcisse,  a pensive  and  melan- 
choly hound,  unresponsive  to  all  the  blandishments  of  Denis, 
equally  indifferent  to  sugar  and  music.  Marie,  Noel  said,  had 
gone  back  to  Paris  because  Miss  Amory  had  become  a vege- 
tarian, so  Narcisse  had  decided  to  migrate  to  Chelsea.  The 
dog  walked  stiffly  round  the  studio,  sniffing  at  the  canvases 
that  were  piled  against  the  walls,  then  he  sighed  deeply,  and 
lay  down  in  the  space  beneath  the  piano,  from  which  abode  of 
darkness  he  could  seldom  be  induced  to  move. 

‘ Poor  beast ! ’ said  Noel.  ‘ He ’s  getting  old.'  He  fumbled 
in  his  pockets  for  a moment,  and  then  produced  a small  brown- 
paper  parcel  which  he  handed  to  Denis. 

‘ I thought  you  might  like  this,’  he  said  in  a queer  voice. 
‘ Don’t  open  it  now,’  he  added.  ‘ Keep  it  till  you  go  back 
to  your  room.’ 

Denis  obeyed.  When  he  opened  the  parcel  he  found  that  it 
contained  a pair  of  small  Spanish  castanets. 

The  day  of  the  concert  drew  near,  and  he  worked  harder 
than  ever,  still  haunted  by  the  sense  that  he  was  inhabiting 
some  lonely  limbo  between  the  old  life  which  he  had  left  and 
the  new  life  to  which  he  had  not  found  the  clue.  Damboise 
assured  him  that  he  was  playing  very  well — becoming,  actually, 
a colosse  ! — and  little  Sandys,  whom  he  met  frequently  at  the 
flat,  was  in  ecstasies.  But  Denis  felt  that  there  was  something 
lacking  ; that  the  secret  for  which  he  had  begun  to  grope  was 
also  the  secret  of  music,  and  his  leisure  was  devoted  to  painful 
heart-searchings.  Damboise  introduced  him  to  a London 
conductor  who  was  perpetually  on  the  watch  for  native 
genius,  and  the  conductor,  having  studied  the  suite,  suggested 
certain  alterations  and  almost  promised  that  his  orchestra 
should  perform  it  at  one  of  the  Sunday  concerts.  Denis’s  old 
idea,  that  it  should  be  named  after  Rosalind,  returned  to  him  ; 
she  had  inspired  every  note,  he  felt  now  ; the  first  part  was 
built  up  from  the  joy  that  he  had  felt  in  her  presence  when 
they  were  in  France,  and  the  second  was  full  of  the  pain  which 
overwhelmed  him  when  he  thought  that  she  had  changed. 
But  to  complete  it  a third  part  would  have  to  be  added,  and 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


461 

as  yet  he  was  unworthy  even  to  attempt  it.  Some  day  he 
would  write  it,  that  great,  serene  third  part, — some  day,  when 
the  bewildering  secret  was  wholly  his.  At  present  he  must 
abide  in  his  lonely  limbo  ; his  soul  was  heavily  inarticulate  ; 
he  could  not  compose. 

He  thought  continually  of  Rosalind,  without  bitterness, — 
without  pain,  even,  and  this  seemed  very  strange.  If  he  had 
loved  her  as  she  deserved  to  be  loved,  could  it  have  happened, 
he  thought  ? Ought  he  not  to  have  hated  her,  he  wondered  ? 
Was  his  passion,  in  that  dead  life,  not  really  so  tremendous  as 
he  imagined  ? Was  it  only  ‘ the  light  fire  in  the  veins  of  a 
boy  ' ? It  was  curious  that  he  seemed  now  to  love  her  more 
than  ever, — but  with  a difference ; his  boyish  adoration  of 
her  had  returned,  intensified,  of  course — far  more  strong  and 
faithful ; but  the  feverish  passion  which  had  forced  him  to 
kiss  her  hands  when  she  visited  him  during  his  illness 
seemed  to  him  now  foolish  and  grotesque, — an  insult  to 
her,  an  act  which  didn't  in  the  least  express  his  real  feeling 
towards  her.  Had  he  been  the  dupe  of  his  imagination  once 
again  ? 

He  could  find  no  answer  to  these  perplexing  questions  ; 
time,  perhaps,  would  solve  them,  or  new  wisdom  would  be 
vouchsafed  to  him  when  he  had  found  the  great,  mysterious 
secret.  For  the  present  there  was  nothing  left  to  him  but 
humility  and  the  tonic  of  hard  work.  He  had  been  a fool 
from  first  to  last, — a sentimental,  self-conscious  young  idiot, 
as  Noel  said,  or  should  have  said.  All  that  folly  had  to  be 
lived  down,  and  the  thought  of  Rosalind  would  help  him  in  the 
process. 

A week  before  the  day  appointed  for  the  concert  he  was  on 
the  point  of  going  to  see  Damboise  when  there  was  a knock  at 
his  door.  He  invited  the  visitor  to  come  in,  and  was  startled 
to  behold  Gabriel  Searle.  There  was  no  change  in  Gabriel's 
aspect ; he  looked  as  long  and  lazy  and  satirical  as  ever,  and 
when  he  spoke  his  voice  had  the  drawling  softness  that  Denis 
remembered  so  well. 

‘ You  see,  I 've  swooped  upon  you  ! ' he  said,  closing  the 
door  and  placing  his  hat  on  the  table.  He  shook  hands  with 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


462 

Denis,  and  sank  with  a sigh  into  an  armchair.  4 A cigarette, 
an  you  love  me,  Denis  ! * he  murmured. 

Denis  produced  his  case,  but  Gabriel,  after  inspecting  its 
contents,  waved  it  away  with  a white  hand. 

4 Americans  ! 9 he  said.  4 Forgive  me,  but  I can't.  “ I 've 
heard  the  East  a-calling,  and  I can't  hear  nothing  else."  In 
plainer  English,  I only  smoke  Egyptians.'  Denis  thought  it 
was  just  like  Gabriel  to  reinsert  the  aspirates  when  he  quoted 
Kipling. 

4 Did  you  come  up  to  London  to-day  ? ' he  asked. 

* This  very  morning,'  said  Gabriel ; 4 I have  only  been  here 
a few  hours,  yet  long  enough  to  have  seen  your  face  staring 
very  solemnly  at  me  from  innumerable  posters.  So  I said  to 
myself,  44  the  morning  is  fine,  the  parson  is  idle,  the  clerical 
meeting  will  be  stuffy  and  controversial,  Chelsea  is  charming  ; 
let  me  go  there  and  renew  my  acquaintance  with  the  man  of 
genius."  So  I gat  me  into  a hansom  and  here  I am.  My  dear 
boy,  I 'm  delighted  at  your  success  ! To  be  playing  with 
Damboise,  at  your  age  ! I suppose  you  feel  tremendously 
proud  of  yourself  ? ' 

4 Oh  ! I don’t  know.  Not  very,'  Denis  answered,  looking 
uncomfortable. 

Gabriel  obviously  didn't  believe  him.  4 Well,  you  may,  you 
legitimately  may  ! ' he  cried.  4 Why,  it 's  less  than  two  years 
since  you  left  school ! ' 

4 There  are  lots  of  fellows  younger  than  I am  who  play — 
give  big  recitals  all  by  themselves,  you  know,'  said  Denis. 

4 Some  of  them  are  so  small  that  they  can’t  stretch  the 
octave.' 

Gabriel  waved  scornful  hands. 

4 Oh  ! infant  prodigies,'  he  said.  4 They  don't  last,  Denis. 
But  you  'll  last,  I know.  I always  felt  that  you  would  go 
through  with  anything  that  you  began.  But  you  know,  my 
dear  boy,  that  though  you  're  not  an  infant  prodigy  you  're  a 
prodigal  infant.  Why  didn't  you  write  to  tell  us  of  your  great 
success  ? ' 

Denis  thought  that  Gabriel's  humour  had  deteriorated. 

4 It 's  not  as  wonderful  as  all  that,'  he  answered.  4 I knew 


THE  FIRST  ROUND  463 

you  would  see  about  it  in  the  papers.  And  I was  bothered  by 
other  things/ 

‘ Ha  ! ’ said  Gabriel.  His  manner,  like  the  architecture  of 
the  Memorial  Building  at  school,  vaguely  suggested  vestry 
meetings.  He  was  abominably  parsonic.  ‘ Ha  ! ’ he  repeated 
with  unction  ; ‘ but  I wasn’t  the  person  who  saw  it  in  the 
paper ! It  was  shown  to  me  by  some  one  else, — some  one  who 
is  always  on  the  look-out  for  your  name.  I rather  fancy  that 
you  can  guess  whom  I mean.  And  he  was  more  grieved  even 
than  I that  you  had  not  written.  Yes  ! I’m  afraid  that 
you  ’re  a prodigal  infant.’ 

Gabriel,  Denis  thought,  was  really  rather  silly.  His 
jocular  manner  jarred  intensely  on  the  boy’s  nerves.  It  was 
a kind  of  clerical  bedside  manner, — intensely  soothing,  no 
doubt,  to  rheumatic  old  women  in  cottages,  but  scarcely 
appropriate  to  some  one  whom  he  had  known  intimately  for 
years.  Meanwhile  Gabriel  had  inspected  the  room. 

‘ You  ’ve  got  a pleasant  abode,’  he  said,  ‘ that  thing  of 
Beethoven’s  head  is  rather  fine.  And  what  a piano  ! You  ’ll 
despise  mine  in  future,  I ’m  afraid.  I observed  with  my 
falcon  eye  as  I came  in  that  young  Tellier  has  a studio  near  you. 
I should  like  to  renew  my  acquaintance  with  him  ; we  met  at 
your  school,  you  remember  Lenwood,  that  other  boy  who 
was  there,  has  been  made  a fellow  of  some  college  at  Oxford — 
Balliol,  I believe.  By  the  way,  what  became  of  Tellier’s 
cousin — the  nice  little  girl  with  the  black  eyes  who  used  to 
wear  a pigtail  ? Do  you  ever  see  her  ? You  remember  her, 
of  course.’ 

‘ Yes,  I remember  her,’  Denis  answered.  ‘ She  used  to  live 
in  London,  but  now  she  has  gone  away.’ 

Gabriel  waxed  in  facetiousness. 

* Don’t  you  go  falling  in  love  with  her,  Denis,’  he  said. 
4 Remember  that  an  artist  is  wedded  to  the  Muse.  I passed 
the  house  where  she  lived  with  her  father  only  a few  days  ago, — 
Hollywood,  it ’s  called,  but  it  had  another  name  in  their  time. 
The  landlord  is  going  to  pull  it  down  and  put  up  a row  of 
cottages  along  the  bank  where  it  stood.  Disgusting  specula- 
tion ! I hope  he  ’ll  lose  money  over  it.  I think  you  are 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


464 

looking  older,  Denis,  and  you  're  very  thin.  You  want  a 
change  of  air,  I expect.' 

‘ I 'm  all  right,  thanks,'  Denis  answered  vaguely.  He  was 
thinking  of  Parnasse.  What  a brute,  that  landlord,  to  think 
of  pulling  it  down  ! But,  after  all,  it  didn't  matter  • nothing 
could  really  destroy  that  beloved  house.  Its  memory  would 
live  eternally,  in  music,  in  pictures,  in  the  human  soul. 
Parnasse  was  no  temporary  arrangement  in  bricks  and 
plaster ; Parnasse  was  an  idea,  Parnasse  was  immortal ! 
Then  he  realised  that  Gabriel  had  been  speaking,  and  caught 
the  end  of  his  sentence.  ‘ — wants  you  to  come  very  soon, 
and  told  me  to  tell  you  so.'  He  stared  at  Gabriel.  ‘ Who 
wants  me  to  come  ? ' he  asked. 

‘ He  does,'  said  Gabriel.  ‘ He  said  so  himself.  He  didn't 
know  that  I was  coming  to  London.'  His  voice  had  changed  ; 
there  was  no  more  unction,  and  he  spoke  quietly  and  gravely. 
Denis  observed  the  change,  and  stared  at  him  with  silent 
wonder.  Gabriel  inspected  the  end  of  his  cigarette  for  a 
moment  and  then  looked  up  at  the  boy. 

‘ Well,  Denis  ? ' he  said. 

Denis  felt  a thrill  of  irritation.  Gabriel,  obviously,  had 
meant  to  take  him  by  surprise,  had  played  a foolish  kind  of 
trick  upon  him.  Why  couldn't  he  behave  like  an  ordinary 
man  ? It  was  ridiculous  to  be  so  finicking  and  artful. 

‘ Oh  ! I 'll  come,  some  time  soon,'  he  answered.  ‘ But  you 
must  know  that  I can't  come  now.  There 's  this  concert  in  a 
week,  and  I 've  a lot  of  other  work.  Was  this  why  you  came 
up  to  London  ? ' 

‘Yes,  I suppose  it  was,'  said  Searle,  ‘ though  there  is  a 
clerical  meeting  in  Dean's  Yard.' 

‘ Why  couldn't  you  say  so  at  once ! ' cried  Denis.  The 
exclamation  surprised  Searle. 

‘ I know  that  you  think  me  a nuisance,  Denis,'  he  said,  ‘ a 
kind  of  gadfly  that  is  always  buzzing  round  you  ; I know  that 
an  artist  likes  nothing  better  than  to  be  left  alone.  But  I 
couldn't  help  coming  to-day  1 I was  at  the  Red  House  yester- 
day afternoon,  and  was  tremendously  shocked  by  the  change 
in  him.' 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


465 


Denis  was  silent  for  a while. 

‘ Isn't  he  better  ? * he  asked.  ‘ I thought  that  as  you 
hadn't  written  he  was  all  right  again.' 

‘ He 's  not  better,'  said  Gabriel.  ‘ He 's  very  much  worse. 
He 's  dangerously  ill,  and  he 's  fearfully  depressed.  Hope 
seems  to  have  left  him  altogether.  But  I believe  that  if  you 
went  back  with  me  to-morrow  it  would  make  all  the  difference. 
Denis ! You  can't  hesitate  now ! He  may  have  treated 
you  tactlessly  in  the  old  days,  but  he 's  your  father.  Even  if 
he  had  been  absolutely  brutal  to  you  all  his  life,  there  ought  to 
be  something  in  your  heart  now  which  would  compel  you  to 
go  to  him.  Has  London  made  you  hard  ? I don't  believe  it. 
You  were  often  obstinate  and  wilful,  but  I always  knew  that 
you  were  really  warm-hearted.  If  you  hadn't  loved  him 
you  wouldn't  have  been  so  extremely  sensitive  when  he 
treated  you  unreasonably.' 

He  watched  Denis  anxiously.  The  boy  drummed  on  his 
knees  with  his  fingers  and  stared  at  the  window.  His  face  did 
not  inspire  Gabriel  with  relief. 

‘ Did  he  really  say  that — about  my  coming  ? ' he  asked  at 
length. 

‘ Of  course  he  did,'  Gabriel  answered.  ‘ And  even  if  he 
hadn't  said  it,  you  must  see  that  it 's  your  duty  to  go  to 
him.' 

‘ Oh,  duty  ! ' said  Denis.  ‘ That 's  a word  ! The  question 
is,  did  he  really  mean  it,  or  was  he  saying  the  right  thing  to 
you  ? I remember  that  he  used  to  be  like  that.' 

This  piece  of  insight  appeared  to  annoy  Gabriel. 

c It 's  indecent,  your  saying  such  a thing  now  ! ' he  cried. 
Denis  looked  at  him  gravely. 

‘ I must  say  what  I think,'  he  said,  ‘ or  what 's  the  use  of 
talking  ? ' 

4 Well,  if  you  don't  admit  that  you  possess  a sense  of  duty,' 
said  Gabriel  ponderously,  ‘ your  instinct  ought  to  take  you  to 
him  at  once.' 

4 And  that 's  what  I don't  feel,'  said  Denis.  ‘ I only  feel 
numb.  I 've  gone  back  to  him  so  often, — not  from  London,  I 
mean — but  before,  when  we  had  quarrelled,  and  it  was  never 


466  THE  FIRST  ROUND 

any  use.  It  didn’t  alter  him.  I don’t  believe  it  would  alter 
him  now.’ 

Gabriel  looked  shocked. 

1 So  you  are  hard  ! ’ he  said. 

'Yes,’  said  Denis.  ' I suppose  I am.  I don’t  know  what 
has  happened.  I can’t  feel.  I see  that  I ought  to,  of  course. 
But  what  is  the  use  of  my  going  to  him  if  I ’m  only  pretending, 
if  I ’m  a hypocrite  ? He  ’ll  see  through  me,  and  that  won’t 
make  him  better.’ 

‘ And  if  he  dies  ? ’ said  Gabriel. 

Denis  became  silent.  After  some  time  he  said,  ' It ’s 
better  for  him  that  he  should  die  thinking  me  bad  than  that 
he  should  die  thinking  me  a hypocrite.’ 

‘ What  have  thoughts  got  to  do  with  it  ? ’ cried  Gabriel. 

' Keep  to  facts : the  facts  are  that  he  is  dangerously  ill  and 
wants  to  see  you.  You  can’t  get  away  from  that.  And  he 
loves  you,  and  you  loved  him  once.’ 

* Before  he  changed,’  said  Denis. 

‘ You  were  the  one  who  changed  ! ’ 

‘ Well,  if  I have,  it ’s  no  use  pretending  that  I haven’t.’ 

Gabriel  stared  at  him  again.  He  had  not  expected  that  the 
argument  would  take  this  extraordinary  line. 

' You  don’t  seem  to  believe  that  he  is  longing  to  see  you,’ 
he  said.  ‘ On  my  word  of  honour,  he  is,  and  if  you  came 
only  for  a day  you  would  realise  it.  Ah,  do,  Denis  ! I know 
it  would  interfere  with  your  work,  but  it  would  repay  you.’ 

Denis  shook  his  head  slowly. 

* I couldn’t  come  for  a day,’  he  said.  ‘ If  I came  at  all, 
it  would  have  to  be  for  good  ; I should  have  to  feel  that  I 
couldn’t  leave  him  even  for  a moment.  And  I don’t  feel  like 
that,’  he  concluded. 

‘ I can’t  follow  you,’  said  Gabriel  hopelessly.  ‘ You  seem 
to  be  setting  yourself  some  impossible  standard  of  action,  and 
refusing  to  act  at  all  because  you  can’t  come  up  to  it  mentally. 
Don’t  you  see  that  it ’s  not  a philosophical  problem,  but  an 
affair  of  life  and  death  ? ’ 

‘ I can’t  come  as  a hypocrite,’  Denis  answered.  He  seemed 
to  be  wrestling  with  some  intricate  thought.  ‘ There ’s  some- 


THE  FIRST  ROUND  467 

thing  I ought  to  feel  and  I don’t  feel  it,’  he  went  on  ; 'so  it 
would  do  no  good  if  I came.’ 

Gabriel  sprang  up  and  began  to  walk  to  and  fro. 

' Denis,  don’t  make  me  hate  you  ! ’ he  cried  in  a strange 
voice.  ' What  will  you  feel  like  if  he  dies  ? ’ 

‘ I know  what  I ought  to  feel/  Denis  answered.  ' But  as 
a matter  of  fact  I shan’t  feel  anything.  The  father  that  1 
loved  seems  to  have  died  already — about  the  time  when  1 
first  went  to  school.  I keep  on  remembering  what  he  was 
like — in  those  days.  I often  see  him.  Then  he  changed 
suddenly  ; he  began  to  hate  everything  that  I did,  every  one 
whom  I liked.  Perhaps,  in  time,’  he  added,  ' I may  feel 
differently  about  him,  but  I can’t  at  present.’ 

Gabriel  turned  upon  him  almost  violently. 

' Oh  ! you  ’re  mad  ! ’ he  cried.  ' You  must  be  mad,  unless 
you  ’re  merely  heartless,  and  don’t  want  to  leave  your  music.’ 
' It ’s  not  that,’  said  Denis.  ' Sometimes  I want  to  go 
back  to  him,  and  to  try  and  persuade  myself  that  he  didn’t 
really  die  when  I went  to  school ; but  it ’s  hopeless  to  think 
of  doing  that  at  present.  I can’t  explain,  but  I know.  I 
feel  numb.  I can’t  pretend.  I must  wait.’ 

This  was  not  lucid,  and  to  Gabriel  it  seemed  incomprehen- 
sible nonsense.  ' A little  time  ago  you  said  that  you  would 
come  as  soon  as  your  concert  was  over,’  he  said. 

' I know,’  Denis  answered,  ' but  I ’ve  seen  things  more 
clearly  even  while  we  talked.  I must  wait  until  I begin  to 

feel — to  feel ’ 

Gabriel  interrupted  him. 

' Meanwhile  your  father  dies  ! ’ he  cried  indignantly.  He 
glanced  wildly  round  the  room,  and  then  seized  his  hat. 
' You  ’re  horrible ! You  appal  me  ! ’ he  said  solemnly. 
'If  I ’d  ever  thought  that  music  would  bring  you  to  this 
awful,  callous  condition,  I ’d  have  died  rather  than  encourage 
you  to  learn  it ! I feel  as  if  it  were  my  fault.  You  ’re  not 
only  callous  ; you  ’re  actually  revengeful.  You  ’re  convinced 
really,  I believe,  that  you  have  a chance  of  repaying  your  father 
all  the  injuries  that  you  imagine  him  to  have  done  to  you. 
It ’s  ghastly  ! You  ’ll  be  his  murderer,  I tell  you  plainly. 


468 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


If  I reported  to  him  what  you  have  said  he  wouldn't  wish  to 
live  any  longer.'  He  paused.  His  manner  changed  with 
almost  ludicrous  rapidity.  * There 's  some  one  at  your  door,' 
he  said. 

‘ Come  in  ! ' cried  Denis.  The  door  opened,  and  a radiant 
personality  appeared  on  the  threshold.  It  wore  a shiny  silk 
hat  and  a smartly  cut  frock-coat  and  very  light  trousers ; 
its  boots  shone  like  twin  suns,  and  it  leant  upon  a gold-headed 
cane.  Denis  stared  in  wild  surmise  for  a moment,  and  then  he 
recognised  Gustus. 

‘Morning,  Yorkie!'  cried  Gustus,  with  a flourish  of  his 
hat.  ‘ I 've  run  you  down  at  last,  you  see  ! ' He  shook  hands 
vigorously  with  Denis,  and  then  gazed  upon  him  critically, 
standing  with  his  legs  set  widely  apart  and  his  cane  a-swing. 

‘ Why,  you 've  quite  grown  up,  Yorkie ! ' he  cried.  ‘ Where,' 
he  continued  melodramatically,  addressing  the  piano,  ‘ where 
is  the  pretty  lad  I used  to  know  ? He  lives  in  Town  and  lets 
his  whiskers  grow.  And  you  're  famous,  Yorkie ; cabinet 
portraits  of  you  all  over  London  ; audiences  roaring,  ladies 
adoring,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  I 'm  coming  to  hear  you, 
though  it 's  out  of  my  line.'  He  turned  to  Gabriel,  and 
recognised  him.  ‘ If  it  isn't  Mr.  Searle  ! ' he  cried.  ‘ You 
don't  remember  me,  sir,  probably ; I 'm  young  Abrahams, 
of  Wychcombe.  Glad  to  meet  you.  You  may  remember 
my  poor  sister,  who  used  to  come  and  hear  you  read  poetry. 
She  said  you  read  it  splendidly, — sang  it  like  a bird  ! ' 

‘ Indeed,'  said  Gabriel,  with  excessive  grimness.  ‘ A lyre- 
bird, I presume  ? ' He  turned  to  Denis.  ‘ I must  go,'  he 
said. 

Gustus  protested  vehemently. 

‘ Oh  ! don't  let  me  frighten  you  off,  Mr.  Searle,'  he  said. 

* I may  look  alarming,  but  I 'm  as  mild  as  a new-born  babe, 
really.  Let 's  have  a good  talk  about  the  old  place.' 

‘ Many  thanks,'  said  Gabriel,  ‘ but  I detest  babes.  And  I 
have  a lot  to  do.'  He  shook  hands  perfunctorily  with  Denis. 

‘ I expect  you  ! ' he  said  in  a low  voice. 

Gustus  overheard  him. 

‘ Going  to  get  him  down  to  the  old  place,  Mr.  Searle  ? ' he 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


469 

inquired  affably.  4 They  think  a lot  of  him  there  now,  I 
expect.  He  's  the  only  genius  they  've  produced,  except  poor 
old  Boulter.  So  long,  Mr.  Searle,  glad  to  have  met  you. 
If  ever  you  ’re  passing  the  Gaiety  Bar  at  one  o'clock,  drop  in 
and  have  a snack  with  me.  You  needn't  be  afraid.  I see 
lots  of  broadcloth  there  nearly  every  day.' 

Gabriel  departed  hastily.  As  soon  as  he  had  gone  Gustus 
turned  to  Denis  and  shook  his  hand  again. 

4 Yorkie,  my  boy,'  he  cried.  ‘ How  goes  it  ? I'm  living  in 
Town  at  last — managing  clerk  to  Popham  and  Lobb — you 've 
heard  of  them.  Plenty  of  work,  mostly  litigation — rare  sport ! 
It  makes  my  heart  arise  when  I hear  counsel  in  the  High  Court, 
— and  the  judges  with  their  jokes ! They  're  different  to  what 
they  are  on  Circuit,  I can  tell  you  ; the  judges,  I mean.  The 
jokes  are  the  same.  I have  a great  time,  and  such  evenings  ! 
I 'm  jolly  glad  to  see  you,  Yorkie.  You  and  I always  hit  it 
off,  though  you  were  so  quiet.' 

Denis  inquired  after  the  health  of  the  Abrahams  family. 
‘ The  old  birds  are  all  right,  I think,'  said  Gustus,  ‘ though 
I haven't  seen  'em  lately.  But,  of  course,  they  were  pretty 
well  knocked  out  of  time  by  that  affair.'  Gustus  elongated 
his  face  to  an  expression  of  profound  melancholy.  * You 
heard  all  about  it,  I suppose  ? ' he  said. 

‘ No,'  answered  Denis.  ‘ I don't  know  what  you  mean. 
Not  Boulter  ? He  didn’t  take  any  money  that  belonged  to 
them,  did  he  ? ' 

‘ No,  I don't  mean  Boulter,'  said  Gustus.  ‘ The  old  rascal 
was  never  caught,  by  the  way,  and  is  running  a harem  in 
Mesopotamia,  I expect.  I mean  about  poor  Cissy.' 

‘ Cecilia  ! ' cried  Denis.  ‘ Miss  Abrahams  ? What  hap- 
pened to  her  ? ' 

‘ She  isn’t  Miss  Abrahams  any  longer,'  said  Gustus  gloomily. 
‘ She 's  Mrs.  Greaves,  worse  luck.  That  beast  who  used  to  be 
in  Boulter's  persuaded  her  to  hook  it  with  him, — to  shoot  the 
moon.  You  know  how  silly  and  romantic  and  lackadaisical 
she  was,  always  wanting  some  fellow  to  kiss  and  cuddle  her  ? 
Well,  she  used  to  meet  Greaves  on  the  sly,  and  one  morning 
ma  went  to  her  room  and  found  no  one  in  it  and  a rope  ladder 


470 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


hanging  under  the  window.  There  wasn’t  any  need  for  a rope 
ladder,  really  ; she  could  easily  have  walked  out  of  the  front 
door  if  she ’d  liked,  or,  at  any  rate,  have  climbed  down  the 
plum-tree,  but  I expect  she  made  Greaves  bring  it  because  it 
was  always  used  by  people  in  the  silly  songs  she  used  to  sing 
and  the  silly  books  she  used  to  read.  Anyhow  she  cleared 
off,  and  the  next  thing  we  heard  of  her  was  when  she  wrote 
from  some  place  in  France  to  tell  us  that  she  had  been  married 
in  London  and  all  her  golden  dreams  had  become  realities, 
or  some  damned  nonsense  of  that  sort.  The  old  people  were 
furious,  of  course  ; they  couldn’t  abide  Greaves.  However, 
there  seemed  nothing  for  it  but  to  make  the  best  of  a bad 
business.  We  didn’t  hear  from  her  again,  and  the  next  news 
we  had  was  in  quite  another  tune.  Some  friend  of  ma’s  who 
was  in  Italy  found  Cissy  half-starved  in  some  stinking  garret, 
with  a baby,  and  any  amount  of  fleas.  Master  Greaves  had 
left  her,  and  gone  off  with  some  dark-eyed  beauty  of  the  South. 
He  used  to  get  drunk,  and  hit  her,  and  all  sorts  of  other 
beastly  things  happened.  You  know  I ’m  not  a weepy  kind 
of  creature,  but  by  Jove,  Yorkie,  when  she  came  back  with 
her  baby  and  I saw  her  face,  I felt  inclined  to  cry  till  I was 
sick.  And  the  baby ’s  diseased,  rotten.  Luckily  it  can’t 
live  long.  She ’s  at  home  now,  of  course,  but  she  hardly 
speaks  to  any  one,  and  she  don’t  sing  sentimental  songs  any 
more,  poor  thing ! He  really  did  marry  her, — I ’ll  say  that 
for  him,  and  we  ’re  going  for  a divorce.  I wish  I ’d  been 
called  to  the  Bar  ! I ’d  give  him  a bit  of  cross-examination 
that  he  wouldn’t  forget  in  a hurry  ! Nice  story,  isn’t  it  ? 
Shows  how  wise  it  is  to  be  sentimental,  eh,  Yorkie  ? ’ 

Denis  said  nothing.  Poor  Cecilia’s  history  seemed  partially 
to  dissolve  the  ice  that  hemmed  in  his  soul ; he  felt  a warm 
thrill  of  pity  sweep  through  him.  What  beasts  men  were  ! 
And  yet,  after  all,  had  he  any  right  to  judge  even  Greaves  ? 
Would  he  himself,  if  similar  temptations  had  attacked  him, 
have  behaved  less  selfishly,  less  cruelly  ? Lust  seemed  to 
reduce  every  one  to  a common  level  of  baseness.  But  the 
thought  of  Cecilia  and  her  doomed  baby  was  horrible,  not  to  be 
borne. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


47i 


‘ I 'm  going  down  to  see  her  soon/  said  Gustus  after  a 
while.  ‘ If  you  're  down  too  you  might  come  over  ; I believe 
she  would  see  you,  and  it  would  do  her  good.  She  does 
nothing  but  watch  the  baby  all  day  long.  Well ! ' he  con- 
tinued in  a more  cheerful  voice,  4 this  isn't  a very  lively  kind 
of  conversation  for  you,  Yorkie  ! Let 's  talk  about  something 
else.  How 's  the  old  man  ? I saw  him  when  I was  last  at 
Wychcombe.  He  looked  a good  bit  older,  I thought ; rather 
white  about  the  gills.  Have  you  seen  him  lately  ? ' 

Denis  moved  uneasily. 

‘ No,'  he  answered,  1 I haven't  been  home  for  some  time.' 

4 You  're  pretty  busy  now  you  're  a notorious  musician,  I 
expect  ? ' asked  Gustus. 

‘ Yes,  I 'm  pretty  busy,'  said  Denis. 

4 That 's  what  I tell  them,'  said  Gustus.  ‘ The  old  people 
are  always  grumbling  that  I don't  go  down  often  enough — 
we 've  always  been  awfully  good  pals,  you  know — and  I say 
to  them,  “ Right  oh  ! of  course  it 's  dreadful  for  you  to  be 
deprived  of  the  son  who 's  the  light  of  your  eyes  and  the 
consolation  of  your  old  age,  but  I 've  got  my  career  to  think 
of."  I mean  to  make  a success  of  things,  and  if  you  want  to 
make  a success  of  things,  you 've  got  to  be  selfish.  Self 's 
the  fellow  ! Even  you,  Yorkie,  have  to  be  selfish,  haven't 
you,  and  stick  to  things  here  instead  of  going  down  every 
week-end  to  gladden  the  fond  heart  of  your  aged  parent. 
Hullo  ! what  in  thunder  are  you  staring  at  ? Am  I turning 
pale  ? ' 

For  Denis  was  gazing  at  Gustus  as  if  that  commonplace 
person  was  an  angel  who  had  suddenly  descended  through  the 
ceiling.  To  Gustus,  of  all  people,  belonged  the  privilege  of 
assisting  at  the  birth  of  the  boy's  new  self — the  privilege 
which  Gabriel  Searle  had  contrived  to  miss.  That  one  word, 
which  had  fallen  so  lightly  from  the  lips  of  the  visitor,  set 
all  his  nerves  quivering.  A great  light  seemed  to  flood  his 
soul.  Selfish  ! that  was  all  that  he  had  been,  an  egoist,  an 
introspective,  morbid  egoist, — that,  and  only  that,  was  his 
true  title  ! He  began  to  tremble  violently, — so  violently  that 
Gustus  imagined  him  to  be  ill ; but  he  was  not  ill ; his 


472 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


sickness  had  passed  away  ; the  scales  had  fallen  miraculously 
from  his  eyes.  He  was  in  possession  of  the  truth  at  last ; he 
had  come  nearer  and  nearer  to  it ; every  one  had  helped  him 
on  the  way — Rosalind,  Topsy,  Noel,  poor  Cecilia,  and  even 
Gabriel — and  now  Gustus  had  uttered  the  magic  word  which 
revealed  it. 

The  young  lawyer  stayed  for  nearly  an  hour,  talking 
incessantly,  and  unconscious  that  he  had  been  raised  to  the 
dignity  of  a tremendous  instrument  of  Fate.  At  last  he 
departed,  having  made  Denis  promise  to  come  and  see  him 
in  his  lodgings  at  Hammersmith.  As  soon  as  he  had  gone 
Denis  locked  his  door  and  flung  himself  into  the  armchair. 

It  was  true,  hideously  true.  Throughout  his  life  he  had 
thought  of  no  one  but  himself.  His  solitary  childhood  had 
been  one  long  effort  to  repeat  sensations  which  he  had  found 
delightful.  His  extraordinarily  precocious  appreciation  of 
the  subtle  charm  of  atmosphere,  of  certain  environments,  his 
delight  in  the  rhythmic  lines  and  colours  of  the  hills,  and  the 
friendly  voice  of  the  wind,  his  music,  his  dreams, — everything 
had  combined  to  foster  this  fatal  habit  of  regarding  himself 
as  the  centre  of  the  universe,  of  living  entirely— except  when 
he  was  composing — as  the  passive  recipient  of  impressions,  of 
taking  all  things  and  giving  nothing  in  return.  He  had  fed 
on  life  and  forgotten  to  settle  the  score, — forgotten  that  there 
were  others  in  the  world  to  whom  he  owed  a duty  which  he 
should  have  repaid  by  instinct.  The  solitude  of  his  early  years 
had  atrophied  his  sympathetic  powers,  and  when  at  last  he 
met  people  whom  he  loved,  his  love  was  selfish  ; he  regarded 
them  as  so  many  contributors  to  the  fund  of  delightful  moods 
that  he  hoarded  in  his  soul ; he  looked  at  them  always  from 
the  standpoint  of  their  effect  on  his  happiness.  Long  ago,  he 
remembered,  he  had  imagined  that  there  were  certain  persons 
in  the  world  who  possessed  a kind  of  rare  gold  which  they 
offered  you  in  exchange  for  some  that  you  possessed  ; and  he 
began  to  realise  that  he  had  always  accepted  the  gold  and 
given  nothing  in  return.  He  had  thought  then,  with  the 
foolishness  of  youth,  that  very  few  were  privileged  to  possess 
this  rare  currency,  but  now  he  was  beginning  to  feel  that 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


473 


every  one  carried  it  with  them  through  life,  though  in  varying 
quantity,  and  often  in  a somewhat  inaccessible  pocket. 
And  what  was  the  gold  but  sympathy, — the  power  to  feel 
for  others,  to  share  their  grief,  the  instinct  to  help  them, 
to  find  your  happiness  in  aiding  them  to  attain  their  own  ? 
Sympathy  and  forgetfulness  of  self, — this  was  the  answer  to 
the  riddle  of  life,  the  magic  talisman  that  made  existence 
beautiful  in  the  darkest  places,  the  great  compensation  for 
all  the  poverty  and  suffering  and  injustice  in  the  world. 
Looking  back  on  his  life,  it  seemed  to  him  that  every  one 
except  himself  had  possessed  this  instinct.  He  could  trace 
its  presence  in  the  most  unlikely  people  : Topsy  had  it,  and 
grim  old  Landberger,  and  the  sentimental  Sandys,  and  the 
blatant  Gustus  ; they  were  all  eager  to  help  others  without 
a thought  of  their  personal  inconvenience  ; Topsy,  in  spite 
of  her  individualistic  theories,  would  spend  all  her  scanty 
earnings  on  an  invalid  ; Landberger  would  work  for  days 
with  some  poverty-stricken  genius  and  refuse  to  accept  any 
remuneration  ; Sandys  would  give  away  work  that  he  himself 
needed ; and  Gustus  nearly  broke  down  when  he  spoke  of  his 
sister,  and  was  the  most  faithful  and  affectionate  of  sons. 
Every  one  of  them  was  doing  something  for  others,  whilst  he 
himself  stood  apart,  consumed  with  cold  egotism,  living  in  a 
dim  dreamland  until  nothing  seemed  real  but  the  fantastic 
pageants  of  his  imagination  ; self-duped,  self-drugged,  an  alien 
amid  the  breezy  reality  of  life ; a recreant,  a useless  encum- 
brance. It  was  true  that  he  had  his  art,  and  that  great  art 
might  be  the  finest  of  all  means  of  sympathy  ; but  this  did 
not  absolve  him  from  practising  the  humbler  forms  of  that 
virtue.  He  had  been  the  blindest  and  most  dreary  kind  of 
fool.  His  whole  scheme  of  existence — at  home,  at  school,  in 
London — had  been  planned  without  any  thought  for  others  ; 
he  had  regarded  life  as  a great  road  along  which  he  was  to 
proceed  in  majestic  and  triumphant  solitude.  At  home,  as 
soon  as  he  had  broken  away  from  the  instincts  of  childhood, 
he  had  thought  of  his  father  as  a mere  accessory  to  the 
amenities  of  his  existence,  and  had  begun  to  cherish  resent- 
ment against  him  as  soon  as  their  respective  points  of  view 


474 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


showed  a hint  of  difference.  At  school  he  had  stood  apart 
contemptuously,  caring  only  for  boys  who  amused  him,  as 
Noel  amused  him,  or  who  interested  him,  as  Lenwood  had 
done.  In  London  he  had  added  the  pediment  to  his  temple 
of  folly,  living  entirely  for  himself,  imagining  that  he  was 
worthy  of  Rosalind's  love  because  he  had  a sentimental, 
j ealous  passion  for  her, — a passion  which  did  not  awake  until 
he  saw  that  she  worshipped  a man  whom  he  hated  ; abandon- 
ing himself,  finally,  to  sensual  desires  which  he  would  have 
gratified  in  any  selfish  way  if  the  opportunity  for  doing  so  had 
occurred.  It  was  a charming  history  of  wilful  folly  and 
failure. 

But  at  last,  after  long  darkness,  the  light  had  come.  He 
knew  the  secret  now — the  secret  of  Rosalind's  wisdom. 
The  path  was  plain  for  him  ; not  humility  alone,  as  he  had 
thought,  would  be  the  lamp  that  was  to  guide  .him  through 
the  new  life,  but  sympathy  and  self-abnegation  ; a belief 
in  others,  not  a haughty  criticism  of  their  imagined  defects. 
The  road  would  be  long  and  difficult,  and  no  vainglorious, 
lonely  conqueror  would  pass  in  triumph  down  its  length  ; 
instead,  there  would  be  the  feeble  and  insignificant  figure  of 
a traveller  who  had  found,  after  long  wandering  in  vague 
mists,  the  true  path,  and  at  last  set  forth,  not  in  cold  isolation, 
but  in  company  with  a host  of  other  pilgrims,  on  a journey 
where  Love  himself  forbade  that  even  the  vilest  should  fall 
by  the  wayside  for  lack  of  succour  from  his  comrades. 

The  exaltation  of  youth  knows  no  half-measures.  The 
first  step  on  the  road  was  obvious  to  Denis,  and  he  made  no 
delay.  That  evening  the  great  Damboise  received  a telegram 
which  caused  him  the  keenest  amazement  that  he  had  ever 
experienced  in  the  course  of  an  adventurous  existence. 

‘ My  father  is  very  ill,'  it  said.  ‘ I am  going  to  him,  and 
cannot  play  at  the  concert.' 

‘ He 's  mad,  mad  as  a wolf ! ' said  Damboise.  But  he  was 
wrong.  Denis  had  become  sane. 

The  first  round  with  life  was  at  an  end. 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


475 


XLVIII 


S he  drove  through  London  the  rain  was  falling 


steadily  and  the  streets  were  dark,  but  when  he 
reached  the  junction  for  Wychcombe  there  was  sunshine 
beyond  the  purple  range  of  the  hills,  and  the  faint  fragrance 
of  earliest  spring  drifted  in  through  the  open  window. 

He  felt  nothing  but  a deep  sense  of  peace.  No  reaction 
had  followed  the  excitement  of  his  discovery ; no  depressing 
suspicion  that,  after  all,  his  new  resolve  would  grow  weak 
when  it  was  tested  by  the  petty  trials  of  commonplace  life ; 
he  was  perfectly  tranquil,  and  full  of  a strange  new  happiness. 
Nor  did  he  feel  any  regret  because  he  had  thrown  away  his 
great  chance  of  success  ; he  wondered  only  if  Damboise 
would  be  able  to  find  some  one  who  could  play  the  Kreutzer. 
Not  that  it  mattered ; Damboise  could  easily  alter  the  pro- 
gramme ; the  absence  of  a young  and  unknown  pianist  from 
the  great  man’s  concert  would  not  trouble  his  innumerable 
admirers. 

When  he  descended  from  the  train  at  the  junction  he 
stood  for  some  time  looking  at  the  distant  hills,  with  a sense 
that  he  had  travelled  over  all  the  world  since  last  he  beheld 
their  familiar  curve.  A thrush  was  singing  in  a tree  outside 
the  little  station,  and  he  could  hear  the  thrilling  notes  of  the 
larks  that  hovered  above  the  fields  near  the  single  line  to 
Wychcombe.  An  ancient  rustic  began  to  question  the  porter 
in  quavering  dialect.  The  freshening  wind  drew  Jiolian 
music  from  the  telegraph  wires. 

The  medley  of  familiar  sounds  gave  Denis  a sensation  to 
which  he  had  been  a stranger  for  many  years.  He  felt  exactly 
as  if  he  were  again  a small  boy  who  was  returning  from 
school  for  the  first  time.  He  was  going  home,  and  he  was 
intensely,  instinctively  happy  ! Oh  ! even  if  he  had  not 


THE  FIRST  ROUND 


476 

been  convinced  already,  wasn't  that  enough  to  prove  that  he 
was  at  last  on  the  right  way  ? 

But  more  than  ever  he  knew  that  he  was  right  when  he 
saw  his  father's  face.  The  eager  expectancy  of  those  eyes 
seemed  to  burn  into  his  heart ; and  his  own  were  dim  with 
sudden  and  surprising  tears.  How  thin  his  father  was,  how 
feeble  and  worn  ! Yet  in  his  face  there  was  a light  that 
Denis  remembered,  though  he  had  forgotten  it  for  a while  ; a 
light  that  somehow,  he  felt  sure,  had  never  wholly  ceased  to 
gleam,  though  he  himself  had  grown  so  blind,  so  wilfully 
blind  ! He  knew  at  last  that  there  was  a love  which  was  proof 
against  all  neglect  and  misunderstanding,  a love  that  was 
as  instinctive  as  the  strange  yearning  in  his  own  heart.  He 
went  quickly  towards  the  bed. 

‘ Father  ! ' he  cried.  He  could  say  nothing  else,  but  that 
one  word  seemed  to  express  all. 

Dr.  Yorke  raised  himself  painfully  on  his  pillows. 

‘ Ah,  Denis,  my  dear  boy,  you 've  come  ! ' he  said.  ‘ The 
afternoon  train  was  a little  late — a little  late ' 

He  held  out  both  his  hands  to  his  son. 


Printed  by  T.  and  A.  Constable,  Printers  to  His  Majesty 
at  the  Edinburgh  University  Press 


A CATALOGUE  OF  BOOKS 
PUBLISHED  BY  METHUEN 
AND  COMPANY:  LONDON 


36  essp:x  STREET 


w.c. 

CONTENTS 

PAGE 

PAGE 

General  Literature,  . 

2-22 

Little  Galleries, 

28 

Ancient  Cities, 

22 

Little  Guides,  . 

28 

Antiquary’s  Books, 

22 

Little  Library, 

29 

Arden  Shakespeare 

23 

Little  Quarto  Shakespeare, 

30 

Beginner’s  Books,  . 

23 

Miniature  Library, 

30 

Business  Books, 

23 

Oxford  Biographies, 

30 

Byzantine  Texts,  . 

24 

School  Examination  Series, 

31 

Churchman’s  Bible, 

24 

School  Histories,  . 

31 

Churchman’s  Library,  . 

24 

Simplified  French  Texts,  . 

31 

Classical  Translations, 

24 

Standard  Library,  . 

31 

Classics  of  Art, 

24 

Textbooks  of  Science,  . 

32 

Commercial  Series, 

25 

Textbooks  of  Technology,  . 

32 

Connoisseur’s  Library, 

25 

Handbooks  of  Theology, 

32 

Illustrated  Pocket  Library  of 

Westminster  Commentaries, 

32 

Plain  and  Coloured  Books, 

25 

Junior  Examination  Series, 

26 

Junior  School-Books,  . 

2 7 

Fiction, 

33-39 

Leaders  of  Religion, 

27 

Books  for  Boys  and  Girls, 

39 

Library  of  Devotion, 

27 

Novels  of  Alexandre  Dumas, 

39 

Little  Books  on  Art,  . , . 

28 

Methuen’s  Sixpenny  Books, 

39 

M 

AY 

I 909 

A CATALOGUE  OF 

Messrs.  Methuen’S 


PUBLICATIONS 


In  this  Catalogue  the  order  is  according  to  authors.  An  asterisk  denotes 
that  the  book  is  in  the  press. 

Colonial  Editions  are  published  of  all  Messrs.  Methuen’s  Novels  issued 
at  a price  above  2$.  6d. , and  similar  editions  are  published  of  some  works  of 
General  Literature.  These  are  marked  in  the  Catalogue.  Colonial  editions 
are  only  for  circulation  in  the  British  Colonies  and  India. 

All  books  marked  net  are  not  subject  to  discount,  and  cannot  be  bought 
at  less  than  the  published  price.  Books  not  marked  net  are  subject  to  the 
discount  which  the  bookseller  allows. 

Messrs.  Methuen’s  books  are  kept  in  stock  by  all  good  booksellers.  If 
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have  early  information,  and  specimen  copies  of  any  books  will  be  sent  on 
receipt  of  the  published  price  plus  postage  for  net  books,  and  of  the  published 
price  for  ordinary  books. 

I.P.L.  represents  Illustrated  Pocket  Library. 


Part  I. — General  Literature 


Abraham  (George  D.)  THE  COMPLETE 
MOUNTAINEER.  With  75  Illustrations. 
Second  Edition.  Demy  8 vo.  1 5s.  net. 

A Colonial  Edition  is  also  published. 

Acatos(M.  J.).  See  Junior  School  Books. 

Adams  (Frank).  JACK  SPRAT.  With  24 
Coloured  Pictures.  Super  Royal  x6mo.  2 s. 

Adeney  (W.  F.),  M.A.  See  Bennett  (W.  H.) 

Ady  (Cecilia  M.).  A HISTORY  OF 
MILAN  UNDER  THE  SFORZA.  With 
20  Illustratious  and  a Map.  Demy  87 >0. 
ios.  6d.  net. 

ZEschylus.  See  Classical  Translations. 

/Esop.  See  I.P.L. 

Ainsworth  (W.  Harrison).  See  I.P.L. 

Aldis  (Janet).  THE  QUEEN  OF 
LETTER  WRITERS,  Marquise  de 
S&VIGN&,  Dame  de  Bourbilly,  1626-96. 
With  18  Illustrations.  Second  Edition. 
Demy  8 vo.  12 s.  6d.  net. 

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Alexander  (William),  D.D.,  Archbishop 
of  Armagh.  THOUGHTS  AND 
COUNSELS  OF  MANY  YEARS. 
Demy  1 6mo.  2 s.  6d. 

Aiken  (Henry).  See  I.P.L. 

Allen  (Charles  C.).  See  Textbooks  of 
Technology. 

Allen  (L.  Jessie).  See  Little  Books  on  Art. 

Allen  (J.  Romilly),  F.S.A.  See  Antiquary’s 
Books. 

Almack  (E.),  F.S.A.  See  Little  Books  on 
Art. 

Amherst  (Lady).  A SKETCH  OF 
EGYPTIAN  HISTORY  FROM  THE 
EARLIEST  TIMES  TO  THE  PRE- 
SENT DAY.  With  many  Illustrations 
and  Maps.  A New  and  Cheaper  Issue 
Demy  8 vo.  7s.  6d.  net. 


Anderson  (F.  M.).  THE  STORY  OF  THE 
BRITISH  EMPIRE  FOR  CHILDREN. 
With  42  Illustrations.  Cr.  8 vo.  2 s. 
Anderson  (J.  G.),  B.A.,  NOUVELLE 
GRAMMAIRE  FRANCAISE,  a l’usage 
des  ecoles  Anglaises/  Crown  8 vo.  2 j. 
EXERCICES  DE  GRAMMAIRE  FRAN- 
CAISE. Cr.  8 vo.  is.  6d. 

Andrewes  (Bishop).  PRECES  PRI- 
VATAE.  Translated  and  edited,  with 
Notes,  by  F.  E.  Brightman.  M.A.,  of 
Pusey  House,  Oxford.  Cr.  8 vo.  6^. 

See  also  Library  of  Devotion. 

‘Anglo= Australian.*  AFTER-GLOW  ME" 
j MORIES.  Cr.  8z >0.  6s. 
j Anon.  HEALTH,  WEALTH,  AND  WIS- 
1 DOM.  Crown  8vo.  is.  net. 

Aristotle.  THE  ETHICS  OF.  Edited, 
with  an  Introduction  and  Notes  by  John 
Burnet,  M.A.,  Cheaper  issue.  Demy  8vo. 
xos.  6d.  net. 

Asman  (fi.  N.),  M.A.,  B.D.  See  Junior 

School  Books. 

Atkins  (H.  G.).  See  Oxford  Biographies. 
Atkinson  (C.  M.).  JEREMY  BENTHAM. 

Demy  8 vo.  5s.  net. 

* Atkinson  (C.  T.),  M.A.,  Fellow  of  Exeter 
College,  Oxford,  sometime  Demy  of  Mag- 
dalen College.  A HISTORY  OF  GER- 
MANY, from  1713  to  1815.  With  many 
Maps.  Demy  8vo.  15^.  net. 

Atkinson  (T.  D.).  ENGLISH  ARCHI 
TECTURE.  With  196  Illustrations 
Second  Edition.  Fcap.  8 vo.  3^.  6d.  net. 

A GLOSSARY  OF  TERMS  USED  IN 
ENGLISH . ARCHITECTURE.  With 
265  Illustrations.  Second  Edition.  Fcap. 
8 vo.  2s'  6d.  net. 


General  Literature 


3 


Auden  (T.),  M.A.,  F.S.A.  See  Ancient  Cities. 
Aurelius  (Marcus).  WORDS  OF  THE 
ANCIENT  WISE.  Thoughts  from  Epic- 
tetus and  Marcus  Aurelius.  Edited  by 
W.  H.  D.  Rouse,  M.A.,  Litt.  D.  Fcap. 
8z >o.  3-r.  6 d.  net. 

See  also  Standard  Library. 

Austen  (Jane).  See  Standard  Library, 
Little  Library  and  Mitton  (G.  E.). 

Aves  (Ernest).  CO-OPERATIVE  IN- 
DUSTRY. Crown  Svo.  5 s.  net. 

Bacon  (Francis).  See  Standard  Library 
and  Little  Library. 

Baden- Powell  (R.  S.  S.)  THE  MATA- 
BELE  CAMPAIGN,  1896.  With  nearly 
100  Illustrations.  Fourth  Edition.  Large 
Cr.  8 vo.  6s. 

Bagot  (Richard).  THE  LAKES  OF 
NORTHERN  ITALY.  With  37  Illustra- 
tions and  a Map.  Fcap.  8 vo.  5s.  net. 
Bailey  (J.  C.),  M.A.  See  Cowper  (W.). 
Baker  (W.  G.),  M.A.  See  Junior  Examina- 
tion Series. 

Baker  (Julian  L.),  F.I.C.,  F.C.S.  See 

Books  on  Business. 

Balfour  (Graham).  THE  LIFE  OF 

ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON.  With 
a Portrait.  Fourth  Edition  in  one  Volume. 
Cr.  8z >0.  Buckram , 6s. 

A Colonial  Edition  is  also  published. 
Ballard  (A.),  B.A.,  LL.D.  See  Antiquary’s 
Books. 

Bally  (S.  E.).  See  Commercial  Series. 
Banks  (Elizabeth  L.).  THE  AUTO- 
BIOGRAPHY OF  A ' NEWSPAPER 
GIRL.’  Second  Edition.  Cr.  Svo.  6s. 
Barham  (R.  H.).  See  Little  Library. 
Baring  (The  Hon.  Maurice).  WITH 
THE  RUSSIANS  IN  MANCHURIA. 
Third  Edition.  Demy  8 vo.  7 s.  6d.  net. 

A Colonial  Edition  is  also  published. 

A YEAR  IN  RUSSIA.  Second  Edition. 
Demy  Svo.  10s.  6d.  net. 

A Colonial  Edition  is  also  published. 
Baring=Gould  (S.).  THE  LIFE  OF 
NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  With  nearly 
200  Illustrations,  including  a Photogravure 
Frontispiece.  Second  Edition.  Wide 
Royal  Svo.  10 s.  6d.  net. 

A Colonial  Edition  is  also  published. 
THE  TRAGEDY  OF  THE  C2ESARS: 
A Study  of  the  Characters  of  the 

CAESARS  OF  THE  JULIAN  AND  CLAUDIAN 
Houses.  With  numerous  Illustrations  from 
Busts,  Gems,  Cameos,  etc.  Sixth  Edition. 
Royal  Svo.  10.?.  6d.  net. 

A BOOK  OF  FAIRYTALES.  With 
numerous  Illustrations  by  A.  J.  Gaskin. 
Third  Edition.  Cr.  Svo.  Buckram.  6s., 
also  Demy  Svo.  6d. 

OLD  ENGLISH  FAIRY  TALES.  With 
numerous  Illustrations  by  F.  D.  Bedford. 
Third  Edition.  Cr.  Svo.  Buckram.  69. 
THE  VICAR  OF  MORWENSTOW.  Re- 
vised Edition.  With  a Portrait.  Third 
Edition.  Cr.  Svo.  3 j.  6d. 

OLD  COUNTRY  LIFE.  With  69 .Illustra- 
tions. Fifth  Edition.  Large  Crown  Svo.  6s, 


A GARLAND  OF  COUNTRY  SONG: 
English  Folk  Songs  with  their  Traditional 
Melodies.  Collected  and  arranged  by  S. 
Baring-Gould  and  H.  F.  Sheppard. 
Demy  \to.  6.9. 

SONGS  OF  THE  WEST:  Folk  Songs  of 
Devon  and  Cornwall.  Collected  from  the 
Mouths  of  the  People.  ByS.  Baring-Gould, 
M.A.,and  H.  Fleetwood  Sheppard,  M.A. 
New  and  Revised  Edition,  under  the  musical 
editorship  of  Cecil  J.  Sharp.  Large  Im- 
perial Svo.  5 s.  net. 

A BOOK  OF  NURSERY  SONGS  AND 
RHYMES.  Edited  by  S.  Baring-Gould. 
Illustrated.  Second  and  Cheaper  Edition. 
Large  Cr.  Svo.  zs . 6d.  net. 

STRANGE  SURVIVALS  : Some  Chapters 
in  the  History  of  Man.  Illustrated. 
Third  Edition.  Cr.  Svo.  2 s.  6 d.  net. 

YORKSHIRE  ODDITIES  : Incidents 

and  Strange  Events.  Fifth  Edition. 
Cr.  Svo.  2 s.  6d.  net. 

THE  BARING-GOULD  SELECTION 
READER.  Arranged  by  G.  H.  Rose. 
Illustrated.  Crown  Svo.  is.  6d. 

THE  BARING-GOULD  CONTINUOUS 
READER.  Arranged  by  G.  H.  Rose. 
Illustrated.  Crown  Svo.  is.  6d. 

A BOOK  OF  CORNWALL.  With  33 
Illustrations.  Second  Edition.  Cr.  Svo.  6s. 

A BOOK  OF  DARTMOOR.  With  60 
Illustrations.  Second  Edition . Cr.  Svo. 
6s. 

A BOOK  OF  DEVON.  With  35  Illus- 
trations. Third  Edition.  Cr.  Svo.  6s. 

A BOOK  OF  NORTH  WALES.  With  49 
Illustrations.  Cr.  Svo.  6s. 

A BOOK  OF  SOUTH  WALES.  With  57 
Illustrations.  Cr.  Svo.  65. 

A BOOK  OF  BRITTANY.  With  69  Illus 
trations.  Cr.  Svo.  6s. 

A BOOK  OF  THE  RHINE  : From  Cleve 
to  Mainz.  With  8 Illustrations  in  Colour 
by  Trevor  Hadden,  and  48  other  Illus- 
trations. Second  Edition . Cr.  Svo.  6s. 

A Colonial  Edition  is  also  published. 

A BOOK  OF  THE  RIVIERA.  With  40 
Illustrations.  Cr.  Svo.  6s. 

A Colonial  Edition  is  also  published. 

A BOOK  OF  THE  PYRENEES.  With 
25  Illustrations.  . Cr.  Svo.  6s. 

A Colonial  Edition  is  also  published. 

See  also  Little  Guides. 

Barker  (Aldred  F.).  See  Textbooks  of 
Technology. 

Barker  (E.),  M.A.  (Late)  Fellow  of  Merton 
College,  Oxford.  THE  POLITICAL 
TFIOUGHT  OF  PLATO  AND  ARIS- 
TOTLE. Demy  Svo.  109.  6d.  net. 

Barnes  (W.  E.),  D.D.  See  Churchman’s 
Bible. 

Barnett  (Mrs.  P.  A.).  See  Little  Library. 

Baron (R.  R.  N.),  M.A.  FRENCH  PROSE 
COMPOSITION.  Third  Edition.  Cr  Svo. 
2 s.  6d.  Key , 39.  net. 

See  also  Junior  School  Books. 

Barron  (H.  M.),  M.A'.,  Wadham  College, 
Oxford.  TEXTS  FOR  SERMONS.  With 


4 


Messrs.  Methuen’s  Catalogue 


a Preface  by  Canon  Scott  Holland. 
Cr.  8 vo.  3s.  6d. 

Bartholomew^.  G.),  F.R.S.E.  See  C.  G. 
Robertson. 


Cr.  8 vo.  is.  6d. 


Bastian  (H.  Charlton),  M.A.,M.D.,  F.R.S. 
THE  EVOLUTION  OF  LIFE.  With 
Diagrams  and  many  Photomicrographs. 
Demy  8 vo.  7 s.  6d.  net. 

Batson  (Mrs.  Stephen).  A CONCISE 
HANDBOOKOFGARDEN  FLOWERS. 
Fcap.  8vo.  3 s.  6d. 

THE  SUMMER  GARDEN  OF 
PLEASURE.  With  36  Illustrations  in 
Colour  by  Osmund  Pittman.  Wide  Demy 
8z >0.  15^.  net. 

Batten  (Loring  W.),  Ph.D.,S.T.D.  THE 
HEBREW  PROPHET.  Cr.8vo.  3s.6d.net. 

Bayley  (R.  Child).  THE  COMPLETE 
PHOTOGRAPHER.  With  over  100 
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on  Direct  Colour  Process.  Demy  8z >0. 
ios.  6d.  net. 

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Beard  (W.  S.).  EASY  EXERCISES  IN 
ALGEBRA  FOR  BEGINNERS.  Cr.  8 vo. 
is.  6d.  With  Answers,  is.  9 d. 

See  also  Junior  Examination  Series  and 
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Beckford  (Peter).  THOUGHTS  ON 
HUNTING.  Edited  by  J.  Otho  Paget, 
and  Illustrated  by  G.  H.  Jalland.  Second 
Edition.  Demy  8 vo.  6s. 

Beckford  (William).  See  Little  Library. 

Beeching  (H.  C.),  M.A.,  Canon  of  West- 
minster. See  Library  of  Devotion. 

Beerbohm  (Max).  A BOOK  OF  CARI- 
CATURES. Imperial  \to.  11s.  net. 

Begbie  (Harold).  MASTER  WORKERS. 
Illustrated.  DemyZvo.  7s.6d.net. 

Behmen  (Jacob).  DIALOGUES  ON  THE 
SUPERSENSUAL  LIFE.  Edited  by 
Bernard  Holland.  Fcap.  8 vo.  3s.  6d. 

Bell  (Mrs.  Arthur  G.).  THE  SKIRTS 
OF  THE  GREAT  CITY.  With  16  Illus- 
trations in  Colour  by  Arthur  G.  Bell, 
17  other  Illustrations,  and  a Map.  Second 
Edition.  Cr.  8 vo.  6s. 

Belloc  (Hilaire),  M.P.  PARIS.  With 
7 Maps  and  a Frontispiece  in  Photogravure. 
Second  Edition,  Revised.  Cr.  8 vo.  6s. 

HILLS  AND  THE  SEA.  Second  Edition. 
Crown  8 vo.  6s. 

ON  NOTHING  AND  KINDRED  SUB- 
JECTS. Fcap.  8 vo.  5^. 

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Bellot  (H.  H.L.),  M.A.  See  Jones(L.  A.  A.). 

Bennett  (W.  H.),  M.A.  A PRIMER  OF 
THE  BIBLE.  With  a concise  Bibliogra- 
phy. Fifth  Edition.  Cr.  8 vo.  is.  6d. 

Bennett  (W.  H.)and  Adeney  (W.  F.).  A 
BIBLICAL  INTRODUCTION.  Fifth 
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Benson  (Archbishop)  GOD’S  BOARD 
Communion  Addresses.  Second  Edition. 
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Benson  (A.  C.),  M.A.  See  Oxford  Bio- 
graphies. 

Benson  (R.  M.).  THE  WAY  OF  HOLI- 
NESS T a Devotional  Commentary  on  the 
119th  Psalm.  Cr.  8 vo.  5$. 

Bernard  (E.  R.),  M.A.,  Canon  of  Salisbury. 
THE  ENGLISH  SUNDAY:  its  Origins 
and  its  Claims.  Fcap.  8vo.  is.  6d. 
Bertouch  (Baroness  de).  THE  LIFE 
OF  FATHER  IGNATIUS.  Illustrated. 
Demy  8 vo.  10s.  6d.  net. 

Beruete  (A.  de).  See  Classics  of  Art. 
Betham=Edwards  (Miss).  HOME  LIFE 
IN  FRANCE.  With  20  Illustrations. 
Fifth  Edition.  Crozvn  8 vo.  6s. 

A Colonial  Edition  is  also  published. 
Bethune- Baker  (J.  F.),  M.A.  See  Hand- 
books of  Theology. 

Bidez  (J.).  See  Byzantine  Texts. 

Biggs(C.  R.  D. ),  D.  D.  See  Churchman’s  Bible. 
Bindley  (T.  Herbert),  B.D.  THE  OECU- 
MENICAL DOCUMENTS  OF  THE 
FAITH.  With  Introductions  and  Notes. 
Second  Edition.  Cr.  8 vo.  6s.  net. 

Binns  (H.  B.).  THE  LIFE  OF  WALT 
WHITMAN.  Illustrated.  Demy  8 vo. 
10s.  6 d.  net. 

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Binyon(Mrs.  Laurence).  NINETEENTH 
CENTURY  PROSE.  .Selected  and  ar- 
ranged by.  Crown  8 vo.  6s. 

Binyon  (Laurence).  THE  DEATH  OF 
ADAM  AND  OTHER  POEMS.  Cr.  8vo. 
3 s.  6 d.  net. 

See  also  Blake  (William). 

Birch  (Walter  de  Gray),  LL.D.,  F.S.A. 

See  Connoisseur’s  Library. 

Birnstingl  (Ethel).  See  Little  Books  on  Art. 
Blackmantle  (Bernard).  See  I.P.  L. 

Blair  (Robert).  See  I.P. L. 

Blake  (William).  THE  LETTERS  OF 
WILLIAM  BLAKE,  together  with  a 
Life  by  Frederick  Tatham.  Edited 
from  the  Original  Manuscripts,  with  an 
Introduction  and  Notes,  by  Archibald  G. 
B.  Russell.  With  12  Illustrations. 
Demy  8 vo.  7 s.  6d.  net. 
ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  THE  BOOK  OF 
JOB.  With  General  Introduction  by 
Laurence  Binyon.  Quarto.  21s.  net. 

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Little  Library. 

Bloom  (J.  Harvey),  M.A.  SHAKE- 
SPEARE’S  GARDEN.  Illustrated. 
Fcap.  8 vo.  3^.  6d.  ; leather,  45-.  6d.  net. 

See  also  Antiquary’s  Books 
Blouet  (Henri).  See  Beginner’s  Books. 
Boardman  (T.  H.),  M.A.  See  French  (W.) 
Bodley  (J.  E.  C.),  Author  of‘  France.’  THE 
CORONATION  OF  EDWARD  VII. 
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King. 

Body  (George),  D.D.  THE  SOUL'S 
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ings of  George  Body,  D.D.  Selected  and 
arranged  by  J.  H.  Burn,  B.D.,  F.R.S.E. 
Demy  1 6mo.  is.  6d. 


General  Literature 


Bona  (Cardinal).  See  Library  of  Devotion. 

Boon(F.  C.).,  B.A.  See  Commercial  Series. 

Borrow  (George).  See  Little  Library. 

Bos  (J.  Ritzema).  AGRICULTURAL 
ZOOLOGY.  Translated  by  J.  R.  Ains- 
worth Davis,  M.  A.  With  155  Illustrations. 
Third  Edition . Cr.  8r >0.  3 s.  6d. 

Botting(C.  G.),  B.A.  EASY  GREEK 
EXERCISES.  Cr.  8 vo.  2s. 

See  also  Junior  Examination  Series. 

Boulting  (W.)  TASSO  AND  HIS  TIMES. 
With  24  Illustrations.  Demy  8 vo.  10 s.  6d. 
net. 

Boulton  (E.  S.),  M.A.  GEOMETRY  ON 
MODERN  LINES.  Cr.  8vo.  2 s. 

Boulton  (William  B.).  SIR  JOSHUA 
REYNOLDS.  P.R.A.  With  49  Illustra- 
tions. Demy  8 vo.  7 s.  6d.  net. 

Bowden  (E.  M.).  THE  IMITATION  OF 
BUDDHA  : Being  Quotations  from 

Buddhist  Literature  for  each  Day  in  the 
Year.  Fifth  Edition.  Cr.  1 6mo.  2 s.  6d. 

Boyle  (W.).  CHRISTMAS  AT  THE  ZOO. 
With  Verses  by  W.  Boyle  and  24  Coloured 
Pictures  by  H.  B.  Neilson.  Super  Royal 
1 6mo.  2 s. 

Brabant  (F.  G.)f  M.A.  See  Little  Guides. 

Bradley  (A.  G.).  ROUND  ABOUT  WILT- 
SHIRE. With  14  Illustrations,  in  Colour 
by  T.  C.  Gotch,  16  other  Illustrations,  and 
a Map.  Second  Edition.  Cr.-8vo.  6s, 

A Colonial  Edition  is  also  published. 

THE  ROMANCE  OF  NORTHUMBER- 
LAND. With  16  Illustrations  in  Colour  by 
Frank  Southgate,  R.B.A.,  and  12  from 
Photographs.  Second  Edition.  Demy  8 vo 
7 s.  6d  net. 

A Colonial  Edition  is  also  published. 

Bradley  (John  W. ).  See  Little  Books  on  Art. 

Braid  (James),  Open  Champion,  1901,  1905 
and  1906.  ADVANCED  GOLF.  With 
88  Photographs  and  Diagrams.  Fourth 
Edition.  Demy  8 vo.  ios.  6d.  net. 

A Colonial  Edition  is  also  published. 

Braid  (James)  and  Others.  GREAT 
GOLFERS  IN  THE  MAKING.  Edited 
by  Henry  Leach.  With  24  Illustrations. 
Second  Edition.  Demy  8 vo.  7s.  6d.  net. 

A Colonial  Edition  is  also  published. 

Brailsford  (H.  N.).  MACEDONIA: 
ITS  RACES  AND  THEIR  FUTURE. 
With  Photographs  and  Maps.  Demy  8 vo. 
12s.  6d.  net. 

Brodrick  (Mary)  and  Morton  (A.  Ander= 
son).  A CONCISE  DICTIONARY  OF 
EGYPTIAN  ARCHAEOLOGY.  A Hand- 
Book  for  Students  and  Travellers.  With  80 
Illustrations  and  many  Cartouches.  Cr.  8vo. 
3 s.  6d. 

Brooks  (E.  E.),  B.Sc.  (Lond),  Leicester 
Municipal  Technical  School,  and  James 
(W.  H.  N.),  A.R.C.S.,  A.M.I.E.E.,  Muni- 
cipal School  of  Technology,  Manchester. 
See  Textbooks  of  Technology. 

Brooks  (E.  W.).  See  Hamilton  (F.  T.) 

Brown  (P.  II.),  LL.D.  SCOTLAND  IN 


5 


THE  TIME  OF  QUEEN  MARY.  Demy 
8vo.  7 s.  6d.  net. 

Brown  (S.  E.),  M.A. , B.Sc.,  Senior  Science 
Master  at  Uppingham.  A PRACTICAL 
CHEMISTRY  NOTE  - BOOK  FOR 
MATRICULATION  AND  ARMY  CAN- 
DIDATES. Easy  Experiments  on  the 
Commoner  Substances.  Cr.  4 to . 1 s.  6d.  net. 

Brown(J.  Wood),  M.A.  THE  BUILDERS 
OF  FLORENCE.  With  74  Illustrations 
by  Herbert  Railton.  Demy  \to.  18s.net. 

Browne  (Sir  Thomas).  See  Standard 
Library. 

Brownell  (C.  L.).  THE  HEART  OF 
JAPAN.  Illustrated.  Third  Edition. 
Cr.  8 vo.  6s.  ; also  Demy  8 vo.  6d. 

Browning  (Robert).  See  Little  Library. 

Bryant  (Walter  W.),  B.  A.,  F.R.A.S.,  F.R. 
Met.  Soc.,  of  the  Royal  Observatory,  Green- 
wich. A HISTORY  OF  ASTRONOMY. 
With  35  Illustrations.  Demy  8z>o.  7s.  6d.  net. 

Buckland  (Francis  T.).  CURIOSITIES 
OF  NATURAL  HISTORY.  Illustrated 
by  H.  B.  Neilson.  Cr.  8 vo.  3$.  6d. 

Buckton  (A.  M.)  THE  BURDEN  OF 
ENGELA.  Second  Edition.  Cr.  8 vo.  3^ 
6d.  net. 

EAGER  HEART  : A Mystery  Play.  Seventh 
Edition.  Cr.  8 vo.  is.  net. 

KINGS  IN  BABYLON  : A Drama.  Cr.  8vo. 
is.  net. 

SONGS  OF  JOY.  Cr.  8 vo.  is.  net. 

Budge  (E.  A.  Wallis).  THE  GODS  OF 
THE  EGYPTIANS.  With  over  100 
Coloured  Plates  and  many  Illustrations. 
Two  Volumes . Royal  8 vo.  ,£3,  3 s.  net. 

Bull  (Paul),  Army  Chaplain.  GOD  AND 
OUR  SOLDIERS.  Second  Edition. 
Cr.  8 vo.  6s. 

A Colonial  Edition  is  also  published. 

Bulley  (Miss).  See  Dilke  (Lady).  _ 

Bunyan  (John).  See  Standard  Library  and 
Library  of  Devotion. 

Burch  (G.  J.),  M.A.,  F.R.S.  A MANUAL 
OF  ELECTRICAL  SCIENCE.  Illus- 
trated. Cr.  8vo.  3 s. 

Burgess  (Gelett).  GOOPS  AND  HOW  TO 
BE  THEM.  Illustrated.  Small  \to.  6s. 

Burke  (Edmund).  See  Standard  Library. 

Burn  (A.  E.),  D.D.,  Rector  of  Handsworth 
and  Prebendary  of  Lichfield.  See  Hand- 
books of  Theology. 

Burn  (J.  H.),  B.  D.,  F.  R.  S.  E.  THE 
CHURCHMAN’S  TREASURY  OF 
SONG:  Gathered  from  the  Christian 
poetry  of  all  ages.  Edited  by.  Fcap.  8 vo. 
3-r.  6d.  net.  See  also  Library  of  Devotion. 

Burnand  (Sir  F.  C.).  RECORDS  AND 
REMINISCENCES.  With  a Portrait  by 
H.  v.  Herkomer.  Cr.  8vo.  Fourth  and 
Cheaper  Edi  tion.  6s. 

A Colonial  Edition  is  also  published. 

Burns  (Robert),  THE  POEMS.  Edited  by 
Andrew  Lang  and  W.  A.  Craigie.  With 
Portrait.  Third  Edition.  Demy  8vo,  gilt 
top.  6s. 

See  also  Standard  Library. 


6 


Messrs.  Methuen’s  Catalogue 


Burnside  (W.  F.),  M.A.  OLD  TESTA- 
MENT  HISTORY  FOR  USE  IN 
SCHOOLS.  Third  Edition.  Cr.  Svo.  3s.  6d. 

Burton  (Alfred).  See  I.P.  L. 

Bussell  (F.  W.),  D.D.  CHRISTIAN 
T H EO  LOG  Y A N D SOC 1 A L P ROGR  ES  S 
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Butler  (Joseph),  D.D.  See  Standard 
Library. 

Caldecott  (Alfred),  D.D.  See  Handbooks 

of  Theology. 

Calderwood  (D.  S.),  Headmaster  of  the  Nor- 
mal School,  Edinburgh.  TEST  CARDS 
IN  EUCLID  AND  ALGEBRA.  In  three 
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in  three  Books,  price  2d.,  2d.,  and  3 d. 

Canning- (George).  See  Little  Library. 

Capey  (E.  F.  II.).  See  Oxford  Biographies. 

Careless  (John).  See  I.P.L. 

Carlyle  (Thomas).  THE  FRENCH 
REVOLUTION.  Edited  by  C.  R.  L. 
Fletcher,  Fellow  of  Magdalen  College, 
Oxford.  Three  Volumes.  Cr.Svo.  18s. 

THE  LIFE  AND  LETTERS  OF  OLIVER 
CROMWELL.  With  an  Introduction 
by  C.  H.  Firth,  M.A.,  and  Notes  and 
Appendices  by  Mrs.  S.  C.  Lomas.  Three 
Volumes.  Demy  8 vo.  18s.  net. 

Carlyle  (R.  M.  and  A.  J.),  M.A.  See 
Leaders  of  Religion. 

Carmichael  (Philip).  ALL  ABOUT 
PHILIPPINE.  With  8 Illustrations. 
Cr.  8 vo.  2 s.  6d. 

Carpenter  (Margaret  Boyd).  T H E C H I LD 
IN  ART.  With  50  Illustrations.  Second 
Editio?i.  Large  Cr.  Svo.  6s. 

Cavanagh  (Francis),  M.D.  (Edin.).  THE 
CARE  OF  THE  BODY.  Second  Edition. 
Demy  Svo.  7s.  6d.  net. 

Celano (Thomas  of).  THE  LIVES  OF  ST. 
FRANCIS  OF  ASSISI.  Translated  into 
English  by  A.  G.  Ferrers  Howell.  With 
a Frontispiece.  Cr.  Svo.  5s.  net. 

Channer  (C.  C.)  and  Roberts  (M.  E.). 
LACEMAKING  IN  THE  MIDLANDS, 
PAST  AND  PRESENT.  With  16  full- 
page  Illustrations.  Cr.  Svo.  2 s.  6d. 

Chapman  (S.  J.).  See  Books  on  Business. 

Chatterton  (Thomas).  See  Standard 
Library. 

Chesterfield  (Lord),  THE  LETTERS  OF, 
TO  HIS  SON.  Edited,  with  an  Introduc- 
tion by  C.  Strachey,  with  Notes  by  A. 
Calthrop.  Two  Volumes.  Cr.Svo.  12 s. 

Chesterton (G.  K.).  CHARLES  DICKENS. 
With  two  Portraits  in  Photogravure.  Fifth 
Edition.  Cr.  Svo.  6s. 

Childe (Charles  P.),  B.A.,  F.R.C.S.  TPIE 
CONTROL  OF  A SCOURGE  : Or, 
How  Cancer  is  Curable.  Demy  Svo. 
7 s.  6d.  net. 

Christian  (F.  W.).  THE  CAROLINE 
ISLANDS.  With  many  Illustrations  and 
Maps.  Demy  Svo.  12s.  6d.  Jict. 

Cicero.  See  Classical  Translations. 

Clapham  (J.  H.),  Professor  of  Economics  in 
the  University  of  Leeds.  THE  WOOL- 


LEN AND  WORSTED  INDUSTRIES. 
With  21  Illustrations  and  Diagrams.  Cr. 
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Clarke(F.  A.),  M.A.  See  Leaders  of  Religion. 
Clausen  (George),  A.R.A.,  R.W.S.  SIX 
LECTURES  ON  PAINTING.  With  19 
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AIMS  AND  IDEALS  IN  ART.  Eight 
Lectures  delivered  to  the  Students  of  the 
Royal  Academy  of  Arts.  With  32  Illustra- 
tions. Second  Edition.  Large  Post  Svo. 
5s.  net. 

Cleather  (A.  L.).  See  Wagner  (R). 
Ciinch(G.),  F.G.S.  See  Antiquary’s  Books 
and  Little  Guides. 

Clough  (W.  T.)  and  Dunstan  (A.  E.). 

See  Junior  School  Books  and  Textbooks  of 
Science. 

Cloustom  (T.  S.),  M.D.,  C.C.D.,  F.R.S.E. 
THE  HYGIENE  OF  MIND.  With  10 
Illustrations.  Fifth  Edition.  Demy  Svo. 
ns.  6d.  net. 

Coast  (W.  G.),  B. A.  EXAMINATION 
PAPERS  IN  VERGIL.  Cr.  Svo.  2 s. 
Cobb  (W.  F.),  M.A.  THE  BOOK  OF 
PSALMS  : with  a Commentary.  Demy  Svo. 
1 os.  6 d.  net. 

Coleridge  (S.  T.).  POEMS.  Selected  and 
Arranged  by  Arthur  Symons.  With  a 
Photogravure  Frontispiece.  Fcap.  Svo. 
2 s.  6 d.  net. 

Collmgwood  (W.  G.),  M.A.  THE  LIFE 
OF  JOHN  RUSKIN.  With  Portrait. 
Sixth  Edition.  Cr.  Svo.  2 s 6d.  net. 
Collins  (W.  E.),  M.A.  See  Churchman’s 
Library. 

Combe  (William).  See  I.P.L. 

Conrad  (Joseph).  THE  MIRROR  OF 
THE  SEA:  Memories  and  Impressions. 
Third  Edition.  Cr.Svo - 6s. 

Cook  (A.  M.),  M.  A. , and  Merchant  (E.  C.), 
M.A.  PASSAGES  FOR  UNSEEN 

TRANSLATION.  Selected  from  Latin  and 
Greek  Literature.  Fourth  Ed.  Cr.Svo.  3s. 6d. 
LATIN  PASSAGES  FOR  UNSEEN 

TRANSLATION.  ThirdEd.  Cr.Svo.  is.6d. 
Coo ke= Taylor  (R.  W.).  THE  FACTORY 
SYSTEM.  Cr.  Svo.  2 s.  6d. 

CoolMge  (W.  A.  B.),  M.A.  THE  ALPS. 
With  many  Illustrations.  Demy  Svo. 
7 s.  6d  net. 

A Colonial  Edition  is  also  published. 
Corelli  (Marie).  THE  PASSING  OF  THE 
GREAT  QUEEN.  Second  Edition.  Fcap. 
4to.  is. 

A CHRISTMAS  GREETING.  Cr.  Ato.  is. 
Corkran  (Alice).  See  Little  Books  on  Art. 
Cotes  (Everard).  SIGNS  AND  POR- 
TENTS IN  THE  FAR  EAST.  With  35 
Illustrations.  Second  Edition.  Demy  Svo. 
7 s.  6 d.  net. 

A Colonial  Edition  is  also  published. 
Cotes  (Rosemary).  DANTE’S  GARDEN. 
With  a Frontispiece.  Second  Edition. 
Fcap.  Svo.  2 s.  6d. ; leather , 3 s.  6d.  net. 
BIBLE  FLOWERS.  With  a Frontispiece 
and  Plan.  Fcap.  Svo.  2s.  6d.  net „ 


General  Literature 


7 


Cowley  (Abraham).  See  Little  Library. 

Cowper  (William).  THE  POEMS. 

Edited  with  an  Introduction  and  Notes  by 
J.  C.  Bailey,  M.A.  Illustrated,  including 
two  unpublished  designs  by  William 
Blake.  Veiny  8 vo.  io.v.  6d.  net. 

Cox(J.  Charles).  See  Ancient  Cities,  Anti- 
quary’s Books,  and  Little  Guides. 

Cox  (Harold),  B.A.,  M.P.  LAND 

NATIONALIZATION  AND  LAND 
TAXATION.  Second  Edition  revised. 
Cr.  8 vo.  3 s.  6 d.  net. 

Crabbe  (George).  See  Little  Library. 

Craik  (Mrs.).  See  Little  Library. 

Crane  (C.  P.),  D.S.O.  See  Little  Guides. 

Crane  (Walter),  R.W.S.  AN  ARTIST’S 
REMINISCENCES.  With  123  Illustra- 
tions by  the  Author  and  others  from  Photo- 
graphs. Second  Edition.  Demy8vo.  18s. 
net. 

A Colonial  Edition  is  also  published. 

INDIA  IMPRESSIONS.  With  84  Illus- 
trations from  Sketches  by  the  Author. 
Second- Edition.  Demy  8vo.  js.  6 d.  net. 

A Colonial  Edition  is  also  published. 

Crashaw  (Richard).  See  Little  Library. 

Crawford  (F.  G.).  See  Danson  (Mary  C.). 

Crofts  (T.  R.  N.),  M.  A.,  Modern  Language 
Master  at  Merchant  Taylors’  School.  See 
Simplified  French  Texts. 

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Cruikshank  (G.).  THE  LOVING  BAL- 
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Crump  (B.).  See  Wagner  (R.). 

Cunliffe  (Sir  F.  H.  E.),  Fellow  of  All  Souls’ 
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THE  BOER  WAR.  With  many  Illus- 
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Cutts(E.  L.),  D.D.  See  Leaders  of  Religion. 

Daniell  (G.  W.),  M.A.  See  Leaders  of 
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THE  DIVINE  COMEDY.  Translated 
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Deans  (Storry  R.).  THE  TRIALS  OF 
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Egerton  (H.  E.),  M.A.  A HISTORY  OF 
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Ellaby  (C.  G.).  See  Little  Guides. 

Ellerton  (F.  G.).  See  Stone  (S.  J.). 

Epictetus.  See  Aurelius  (Marcus). 

Erasmus.  A Book  called  in  Latin  EN- 
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Fielding  (Henry).  See  Standard  Library. 

Finn  (S.  W.),  M.  A.  See  J unior  Examination 
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Firth  (J.  B.).  See  Little  Guides. 

Firth  (C.  H.),  M.A. , Regius  Professor  of 
Modern  History  at  Oxford.  CROM- 
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monwealth, and  the  Protectorate.  Cr.  Svo. 
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Firth  (Edith  E.).  See  Beginner’s  Books. 

FitzGerald  (Edward).  THE  RUBAIYAT 
OF  OMAR  KHAYYAM.  Printed  from 
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mentary by  Mrs.  Stephen  Batson,  and  a 
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General  Literature 


9 


FitzGerald  (H.  P.).  A CONCISE  HAND- 
BOOK OF  CLIMBERS,  TWINERS, 
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Fitzpatrick  (5.  A.  O.).  See  Ancient  Cities. 

Flecker  (W.  H.),  M.A.,D.C.L.,  Headmaster 
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tion and  Notes.  Cr.  8 vo.  2 s.  6d. 

Fletcher  (J.  S.).  A BOOK  OF  YORK- 
SHIRE. With  16  Illustrations  in  Colour 
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R.B.A.,  and  12  from  Photographs.  Demy 
8 vo.  7 s.  6d.  net. 

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Flux  (A.  W.),  M.A.,  William  Dow  Professor 
of  Political  Economy  in  M‘Gill  University, 
Montreal.  ECONOMIC  PRINCIPLES. 
Demy  8 vo.  7 s.  6d.  net. 

Foat  (F.  W.  G.),  D.Litt.,  M.A.,  Assistant 
Master  at  the  City  of  London  School. 
LONDON : A READER  FOR  YOUNG 
CITIZENS.  With  Plans  and  Illustra- 
tions. Cr.  8 vo.  is.  6d. 

Ford  (H.  G.),  M.A.,  Assistant  Master  at 
Bristol  Grammar  School.  See  Junior  School 
Books. 

Forel  (A.).  THE  SENSES  OF  INSECTS. 
Translated  by  Macleod.  Yearsley.  With 
2 Illustrations.  Demy  8 vo.  ibs.  6d.  net. 

Fortescue  (Mrs.  G.).  See  Little  Books  on 
Art. 

Fraser  (J.  F.).  ROUND  THE  WORLD 
ON  A WHEEL.  With  100  Illustrations. 
Fifth  Edition  Cr.  8 vo.  65. 

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French  (W.),  M.A.  See  Textbooks  of  Science. 

Freudenreich  (Ed.  von).  DAIRY  BAC- 
TERIOLOGY. A Short  Manual  for 
Students.  Translated  by  J.  R.  Ainsworth 
Davis,  M.A.  Second  Edition.  Revised. 
Cr.  8 vo.  2s.  6d. 

Fulford  (H.  W.),  M.A.  See  Churchman’s 
Bible. 

Fuller  (W.  P.),  M.A.  See  Simplified  French 
Texts. 

Fyvie  (John).  TRAGEDY  QUEENS  OF 
THE  GEORGIAN  ERA.  With  ^Illustra- 
tions. Second  Ed.  Demy  8vo.  12s.6d.net. 

Gallaher  (D.)  and  Stead  (W.  J.).  THE 
COMPLETE  RUGBY  FOOTBALLER, 
ON  THE  NEW  ZEALAND  SYSTEM. 
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GalIichan(W.  M.).  See  Little  Guides. 

Gambado  (Geoffrey,  Esq.).  See  I.P.L. 

Gaskell  (Mrs.).  See  Little  Library,  Stan- 
dard Library  and  Sixpenny  Novels. 

Gasquet,  the  Right  Rev.  Abbot,  O.S.B.  See 
Antiquary’s  Books. 

George  (H.  B.),  M.  A.,  Fellow  of  New  College, 
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A HISTORICAL  GEOGRAPHY  OF  THE 

A 


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Gibbins  (H.  de  B.),  Litt.D.,  M.A.  IN- 
DUSTRY IN  ENGLAND  : HISTORI- 
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THE  INDUSTRIAL  HISTORY  OF 
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ENGLISH  SOCIAL  REFORMERS. 

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Gibbon  (Edward).  MEMOIRS  OF  MY 
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Gibbs  (Philip).  THE  ROMANCE  OF 
GEORGE  VILLIERS  : FIRST  DUKE 
OF  BUCKINGHAM,  AND  SOME  MEN 
AND  WOMEN  OF  THE  STUART 
COURT.  With  20  Illustrations.  Second 
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Gibson  (E.  C.  S.),  D.D.,  Lord  Bishop  of 
Gloucester.  See  Westminster  Commentaries, 
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graphies. 

Gilbert  (A.  R.).  See  Little  Books  on  Art. 

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Goodrich- Freer  (A.).  IN  A SYRIAN 
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Gorst  (Rt.  Hon.  Sir  John).  THE  CHIL- 
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IO 


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Green  (G.  Buckland),  M.A. , late  Fellow 
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Iiall  (R.  N.).  GREAT  ZIMBABWE. 
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Hawthorne(Nathaniel).  See  Little  Library. 
Heath  (Frank  R.).  See  Little  Guides. 

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Hello  (Ernest).  STUDIES  IN  SAINT- 
SHIP.  Fcap  8 vo.  3 s.  6d. 


Henderson  (B.  W.),  Fellow  of  Exeter 
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PRINCIPATE  OF  THE  EMPEROR 
NERO.  Illustrated.  New  and  cheaper 
issue.  Demy  8vo.  7s.  6d.  net. 

AT  INTERVALS.  Fcap8vo.  2 s.  6 d.  net. 
Henderson  (M.  Sturge).  GEORGE 
MEREDITH  : NOVELIST,  POET, 

REFORMER.  With  a Portrait  in  Photo- 
gravure. Second  Edition.  Crown  8 vo.  6s. 
Henderson  (T.  F.).  See  Little  Library  and 
Oxford  Biographies. 

Henderson  (T.  F.),  and  Watt  (Francis). 

SCOTLAND  OF  TO-DAY.  With  20 
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trations. Second  Edition.  Cr.  8 vo.  6s. 

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Henley  (W.  E.).  ENGLISH  LYRICS. 
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Henley (W.  E.)and Whibley (C.)  ABOOK 
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TRADE  AND  FINANCE  IN  THE 
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2S.  6d. 

Hewitt  (Ethel  M.)  A GOLDEN  DIAL. 
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Hey  (H.),  Inspector,  Surrey  Education  Com- 
mittee, and  Rose  (G.  H.),  City  and  Guilds 
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TRAINING  CLASSROOM : Wood- 

work. Book  I.  4 to.  is. 

Hey  wood  (W.).  See  St.  Francis  of  Assisi. 
Hill  (Clare).  See  Textbooks  of  Technology. 
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Hirst  (F.  W.)  See  Books  on  Business. 
Hoare  (J.  Douglas).  A HISTORY  OF 
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Hobhouse  (L.  T.),  late  Fellow  of  C.C.C., 
Oxford.  THE  THEORY  OF  KNOW- 
LEDGE. Demy  8vo.  ios.  6d.  net. 
Hobson  (J.  A.),  M.A.  INTERNATIONAL 
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PROBLEMS  OF  POVERTY.  An  Inquiry 
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General  Literature 


ii 


THE  PROBLEM  OF  THE  UNEM- 
PLOYED. Fourth  Edition.  Cr.8vo.  zs.6d. 
Hodgetts  (E.  A.  Brayley).  THE  COURT 
OF  RUSSIA  IN  THE  NINETEENTH 
CENTURY.  With  20  Illustrations.  Two 
Volumes.  Demy  8 vo.  24 s.  net. 

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Hodgkin  (T.),  D.C.L.  See  Leaders  of 
Religion. 

Hodgson  (Mrs.  W.)  HOW  TO  IDENTIFY 
OLD  CHINESE  PORCELAIN.  With  40 
Illustrations.  Second  Edition.  PostZvo.  6s. 
Holden=Stone  (G.  de).  See  Books  on 
Business. 

Holdich  (Sir  T.  H.),  K.C.I.E.  THE 
INDIAN  BORDERLAND:  being  a 

Personal  Record  of  Twenty  Years.  Illus- 
trated. Demy  Svo.  10s.  6d.  net. 

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Holdsworth  (W.  S.),  M.A.  A HISTORY 
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Holland  (H.  Scott),  Canon  of  St.  Paul’s. 
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Hollway-Calthrop  (H.  C.),  late  of  Balliol 
College,  Oxford ; Bursar  of  Eton  College. 
PETRARCH  : HIS  LIFE,  WORK,  AND 
TIMES.  With  24  Illustrations.  Demy 
8 vo.  12  s.  6d.  net. 

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Holt  (Emily).  THE  SECRET  OF  POPU- 
LARITY : How  to  Achieve  Social  Success. 
Cr.  8 vo.  3s.  6 d.  net. 

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Holyoake  (G.  J.).  THE  CO-OPERATIVE 
MOVEMENT  OF  TO-DAY.  Fourth  Ed. 
Cr.  8 vo.  2 s.  6 d. 

Hone  (Nathaniel  J.).  See  Antiquary’s  Books. 
Hook  (A.)  HUMANITY  AND  ITS 
PROBLEMS.  Cr.  8 vo.  5.?.  net. 

Hoppner.  See  Little  Galleries. 

Horace.  See  Classical  Translations. 
Horsburgh(E.  L.  5.),  M.A.  WATERLOO  : 
With  Plans.  Second  Edition.  Cr.  8 vo.  5 s. 
See  also  Oxford  Biographies. 

Horth  (A.  C.).  See  Textbooks  of  Technology. 
Horton  (R.  F.),  D.D.  See  Leaders  of  Religion. 
Hosie  (Alexander).  MANCHURIA.  With 
Illustrations  and  a Map.  Second  Edition. 
Demy  8 vo.  7s.  6 d.  net. 

A Colonial  Edition  is  also  published. 

How  (F.  D.)„  SIX  GREAT  SCHOOL- 
MASTERS. With  Portraits  and  Illustra- 
tions. Second  Edition.  Demy  8 vo.  7 s.  6d. 
Howell  (A.  G.  Ferrers).  FRANCISCAN 
DAYS.  Being  Selections  for  every  day  in 
the  year  from  ancient  Franciscap  writings. 
Cr.  8 vo.  3s.  6d.  net. 

Howell  (G.).  TRADE  UNIONISM— New 
and  Old.  Fourth  Edition . Cr.  8vo. 
2 s.  6 d. 

Huggins  (Sir  William),  K.C.B.,  O.M., 
D.C.L. , F.R.S.  THE  ROYAL  SOCIETY. 
With  25  Illustrations.  Wide  Royal  8z >0. 
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Hughes  (C.  E.).  THE  PRAISE  OF 
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Hughes  (Thomas).  TOM  BROWN’S 
SCHOOLDAYS.  With  an  Introduction 
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Royal  32 mo . 2 s.  6 d.  net. 

Hutchinson  (Horace  G.)  THE  NEW 
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50  Pictures  by  Walter  Tyndale  and  4 
by  Lucy  Kemp-Welch.  Third  Edition. 
Cr.  8 vo.  6s. 

Hutton  (A.  W.),  M.A.  See  Leaders  of 
Religion  and  Library  of  Devotion. 

Hutton  (Edward).  THE  CITIES  OF 
UMBRIA.  With  20  Illustrations  in  Colour 
by  A.  Pisa,  and  12  other  Illustrations.  Third 
Edition.  Cr.  8 vo.  6s. 

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ENGLISH  LOVE  POEMS.  Edited  with 
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Hutton  (R.  H.).  See  Leaders  of  Religion. 

Hutton  (W.  H.),  M.A.  THE  LIFE  OF 
SIR  THOMAS  MORE.  With  Portraits 
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Hyett  (F.  A.).  FLORENCE  : Her  History 
and  Art  to  the  Fall  of  the  Republic. 
Demy  8 vo.  7s.  6d.  net. 

Ibsen  (Henrik).  BRAND.  A Drama. 
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Inge  (W.  R.),  M.A.,  Fellow  and  Tutor  of 
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Ingham  (B.  P.).  See  Simplified  French 
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Jackson  (C.E.),  B.  A.,  Senior  Physics  Maste 
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of  Science. 

Jackson  (S.),  M.A.  See  Commercial  Series. 

Jackson  (F.  Hamilton).  See  Little  Guides. 

Jacob  (F.),  M.A.  See  Junior  Examination 
Series. 


12 


Messrs.  Methuen's  Catalogue 


James  (W.  H.  N.).  See  Brooks  (E.  E.). 

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AND  CORNERS  AS  AFFECTING 
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Jebb  (Camilla).  A STAR  OF  THE 
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Jeffery  (Reginald  W.),  M.A.  THE 
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Jeffreys  (D.  Gwyn).  DOLLY’S  THEATRI- 
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Jenks(E.),  M.A.,  B.C.L.  AN  OUTLINE 
OF  ENGLISH  LOCAL  GOVERNMENT. 
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Jessopp  (Augustus),  D.D.  See  Leaders  of 
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Johnson  (Mrs.  Barham).  WILLIAM  BOD- 
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Jones  (H.  F.).  See  Textbooks  of  Science. 

Jones  (L.  A.  Atherley),  K.C.,  M.P.,  and 
Bellot  (Hugh  H.  L,),  M.A.,  D.C.L. 
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COMMERCE  IN  WAR.  Royal8vo.  2xs.nct. 

Jones  (R.  Compton),  M.A.  POEMS  OF 
THE  INNER  LIFE.  Selected  by.  Thir- 
teenth Edition.  Fcap.8vo.  2s.6d.net. 

Jonson  (Ben).  See  Standard  Library. 

Juliana  (Lady)  of  Norwich.  REVELA- 
TIONS OF  DIVINE  LOVE.  Ed.by  Grace 
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Juvenal.  See  Classical  Translations. 

‘ Kappa.’  LET  YOUTH  BUT  KNOW: 
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Kaufmann  (M.),  M.A.  SOCIALISM  AND 
MODERN  THOUGHT.  Second  Edition 
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net. 

Keats  (John).  THE  POEMS.  Edited 
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1 REALMS  OF  GOLD.  Selections  from  the 
Works  of.  Reap.  8 vo.  3 s.  6d.  net. 

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Keble  (John).  THE  CHRISTIAN  YEAR. 
With  an  Introduction  and  Notesby  W.  Lock, 
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Kelynack  (T.  N.),  M.D.,  M.R.C.P.  THE 
DRINK  PROBLEM  IN  ITS  MEDICO- 
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Kempis  (Thomas  k).  THE  IMITATION 
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Also  Translated  by  C.  Bigg,  D.D.  Cr. 
8vo.  3s.  6d. 

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Library  of  Devotion,  and  Standard  Library. 
Kennedy  (Bart.).  THE  GREEN 
SPHINX.  Cr.  8 vo.  3$.  6d.  net. 

Kennedy  (James  Houghton),  D.D.,  Assist- 
ant Lecturer  in  Divinity  in'the  University  of 
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THIRD  EPISTLES  TO  THE  CORIN- 
THIANS. With  Introduction,  Dissertations 
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Kimmins  (C.  W.),  M.A.  THE  CHEMIS- 
TRY OF  LIFE  AND  HEALTH.  Illus- 
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Kinglake  (A.  W.).  See  Little  Library. 
Kipling  (Rudyard).  BARRACK- ROOM 
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Knight  (Albert  E.).  THE  COMPLETE 
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Kniglit(Ii.  J.C.), B.D.  SeeChurchman’sBible. 
Knowling  (R.  J.),  M.A. , Professor  of  New 
Testament  Exegesis  at  King’s  College, 
London.  See  Westminster  Commentaries. 
Lamb  (Charles  and  Mary),  THE  WORKS. 
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Lambert  (F*  A.  H.).  See  Little  Guides. 


General  Literature 


Lambros  (Professor  S.  P.).  See  Byzantine 
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Lane -Poole  (Stanley).  A HISTORY  OF 
EGYPT  IN  THE  MIDDLE  AGES.  Fully 
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Langbridge  (F.),  M.  A.  BALL  ADS  OF  THE 
BRAVE  : Poems  of  Chivalry,  Enterprise, 
Courage,  and  Constancy.  Third  Edition. 
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Law  (William).  See  Library  of  Devotion 
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Leach  (Henry).  THE  DUKE  OF  DEVON- 
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THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  LINKS.  Cr.  8 vo.  6s. 
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Le  Braz  (Anatole).  THE  LAND  OF 
PARDONS.  Translated  by  Frances  M. 
Gostling.  With  12  Illustrations  in  Colour 
by  T.  C.  Gotch,  and  40  other  Illustrations. 
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Lee  (Captain  L.  Melville).  A HISTORY 
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Lewes  (V.  B.),  M.A.  AIR  AND  WATER. 

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Lisle  (Fortun^ede).  See  Little  Books  on  Art. 
Littlehales  (H.).  See  Antiquary’s  Books. 
Llewellyn  (Owen)  and  Raven=Mill  (L.). 
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Lock  (Walter),  D.D.,  Warden  of  Keble 
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THE  BIBLE  AND  CHRISTIAN  LIFE. 
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Locker  (F.).  See  Little  Library. 

Lodge  (Sir  Oliver),  F.R.S.  THE  SUB- 
STANCE OF  FAITH  ALLIED  WITH 
SCIENCE:  A Catechism  for  Parents 

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Lofthouse  (W.  F.),  M.A.  ETHICS  AND 
ATONEMENT.  With  a Frontispiece.^ 
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Longfellow  (H.  W .).  See  Little  Library. 
Lorimer  (George  Horace).  LETTERS 
FROM  A SELF-MADE  MERCHANT 
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OLD  GORGON  GRAHAM.  Second  Edition. 
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Lover  (Samuel).  See  I.P.L. 

E.  V.  L.  and  C.  L.  G.  ENGLAND  DAY  BY 
DAY  : Or,  The  Englishman’s  Handbook  to 
Efficiency.  Illustrated  by  George  Morrow. 
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Lucas  (E.V.).  THE  LIFE  OF  CHARLES 
LAMB.  With  28  Illustrations.  Fourth 
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Demy  8 vo.  7 .v.  6d.  net. 

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tS 


A WANDERER  IN  HOLLAND.  With 
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Masters,  and  a Map.  Ninth  Edition. 
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A WANDERER  IN  LONDON.  With  16 
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THE  OPEN  ROAD  : a Little  Book  for  Way- 
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THE  GENTLEST  ART.  A Choice  of 
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Lucian.  See  Classical  Translations. 

Lyde  (L.  W.),  M.A.  See  Commercial  Series. 

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THEIR  WORK.  Cr.  8 vo.  2 s.  6 d. 

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Series. 

MacCulloch  (J.  A.).  See  Churchman’s 
Library. 

MacCunn  (Florence  A.).  MARY 
STUART.  With  44  Illustrations,  in 
eluding  a Frontispiece  in  Photogravure. 
New  and  Cheaper  Edition.  Large  Cr.  8 vo. 
6s. 

See  also  Leaders  of  Religion. 

McDermott  (E.  R.).  See  Books  on  Business. 

M‘Dowail(A.  s.;.  See  Oxford  Biographies. 

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General  Literature 


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Morfill  (W.  R.),  Oriel  Conege,  Oxford.  A 
HISTORY  OF  RUSSIA  FROM  PETER 
THE  GREAT  TO  ALEXANDER  II. 
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Morich  (R.  J.),  late  of  Clifton  College.  See 
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Morley  (Margaret  W.),  Founded  on.  THE 
BEE  PEOPLE.  With  74  Illustrations. 
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Mountain  Squirrel  told  by  Himself. 
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Morris  (J.).  THE  MAKERS  OF  JAPAN. 
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net. 

Morris  (Joseph  E.).  See  Little  Guides. 

Morton  (A.  Anderson).  See  Brodrick(M.). 

Moule(H.  C.  G.),  D.D.,  Lord  Bishop  of  Dur- 
ham. See  Leaders  of  Religion. 

Muir  (M.  M.  Pattison),  M.A.  THE 
CHEMISTRY  OF  FIRE.  Illustrated. 
Cr.  8vo.  2s.  6 d. 

Mundella  (V.  A.),  M.A.  See  Dunn  (J.  T.). 

Munro(R.),  M.A.,  LL.D.  See  Antiquary’s 
Books. 

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LAWN  TENNIS  PLAYER.  With  many 
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ioj.  6d.  net. 

Naval  Officer  (A).  See  I.  P.  L. 

Neal  (W.  G.).  See  Hall  (R.  N.), 

Newman  (Ernest).  HUGO  WOLF. 
With  13  Illustrations.  DemyZvo.  js.6d.net. 

Newman(George),  M.D.,D.P.H.,F.R.S.E., 
INFANT  MORTALITY,  A Social 
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Newman  (J.  H.)  and  others.  See  Library 
of  Devotion. 

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THE  PREVENTION  OF  TUBERCU- 
LOSIS. Demy  8 vo.  io.v.  6d.  net. 

Nichols  (Bowyer).  See  Little  Library. 

Nicklin  (T.),  M.A.  EXAMINATION 
PAPERS  IN  THUCYDIDES.  Cr.  8 vo.  2 s. 

Nimrod.  See  I.  P.  L. 

Norgate  (G.  Le  Grys).  THE  LIFE  OF 
SIR  WALTER  SCOTT.  With  53  Illus- 
trations by  Jenny  Wylie.  Demy  8 vo. 
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Norway  (A.  H.).  NAPLES.  Past  and 
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Oliphant  (Mrs.).  See  Leaders  of  Religion. 


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Raven  (J.  J.),  D.D.,  F.S.A.  See  Antiquary’s 
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Raven-Hill  (L.).  See  Llewellyn  (Owen). 

Rawstorne  (Lawrence,  Esq.).  See  I.P.L. 

Raymond  (Walter).  See  School  Histories. 

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General  Literature 


17 


Redpath  (H.  A.).  M.A.,  D.Litt.  See  West, 
minster  Commentaries. 

Rees  (J.  D.),  C.I.E.,  M.P.  THE  REAL 
INDIA.  Second  Edition.  Demy8vo.  10s. 

6 d.  net. 

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*Reich  (Emil),  Doctor  Juris.  WOMAN 
THROUGH  THE  AGES.  With  24  Illus 
trations.  Two  Volumes.  Demy8vo.  21s.net. 

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Reynolds  (Sir  Joshua).  See  Little  Galleries. 

Rhoades  (J.  F.).  See  Simplified  French  Texts. 

Rhodes  (W.  E.).  See  School  Histories. 

Rieu(H.),  M.A.  See  Simplified  French  Texts. 

Roberts  (M.  E.).  See  Channer  (C.  C.). 

Robertson  (A.),  D.D.,  Lord  Bishop  of 
Exeter.  REGNUM  DEL  (The  Bampton 
Lectures  of  1901).  A New  and  Cheaper 
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Messrs.  Methuen’s  Catalogue 


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28 


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Fiction 


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35 


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GRAVES  OF  BALGOWRIE. 

Gallon  (Tom).  RICKERBY’S  FOLLY. 

Gaskell  (Mrs.).  CRANFORD. 

MARY  BARTON. 

NORTH  AND  SOUTH. 

Gerard  (Dorothea).  HOLY  MATRI- 
MONY. 

THE  CONQUEST  OF  LONDON. 

MADE  OF  MONEY. 

Gissing(G).  THE  TOWN  TRAVELLER. 

THE  CROWN  OF  LIFE. 

Glanville  (Ernest).  THE  INCA’S 
TREASURE. 

THE  KLOOF  BRIDE. 

Gleig  (Charles).  BUNTER’S  CRUISE. 

Grimm  (The  Brothers).  GRIMM’S 
FAIRY  TALES. 

Hope  (Anthony).  A MAN  OF  MARK. 

A CHANGE  OF  AIR. 

THE  CHRONICLES  OF  COUNT 
ANTONIO. 

PHROSO. 

THE  DOLLY  DIALOGUES. 

Hornung  (E.  W.).  DEAD  MEN  TELL 
NO  TALES. 


Marsh  (Richard).  A METAMORPHOSIS. 

THE  TWICKENHAM  PEERAGE. 

THE  GODDESS. 

THE  JOSS. 

Mason  (A.  E.  W.).  CLEMENTINA. 
Mathers  (Helen).  HONEY. 

GRIFF  OF  GRIFFITHSCOURT 
SAM’S  SWEETHEART. 

Meade  (Mrs.  L.  T.).  DRIFT. 

Mitford  (Bertram).  THE  SIGN  OF  THE 
SPIDER 

Montresor  (F.  F.).  THE  ALIEN. 
Morrison  (Arthur).  THE  HOLE  IN 
THE  WALL. 

Nesbit  (E.)  THE  RED  HOUSE. 
Norris  (W.  E.).  HIS  GRACE. 

GILES  INGILBY. 

THE  CREDIT  OF  THE  COUNTY. 
LORD  LEONARD  THE  LUCKLESS. 
MATTHEW  AUSTIN. 

CLARISSA  FURIOSA. 

Oliphant  (Mrs.).  THE  LADY’S  WALK. 
SIR  ROBERT  S FORTUNE. 

THE  PRODIGALS. 

THE  TWO  MARYS. 

Oppenheim  (E.  P.).  MASTER  OF  MEN. 
Parker  (Gilbert).  THE  POMP  OF  THE 
LAVILETTES. 

WHEN  VALMOND  CAME  TO  PONTIAC. 
THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  SWORD. 
Pemberton  (Max).  THE  FOOTSTEPS 
OF  A THRONE. 

I CROWN  THEE  KING. 


Phillpotts  (Eden).  THE  HUMAN  BOY, 
CHILDREN  OF  THE  MIST. 

THE  POACHER’S  WIFE. 

THE  RIVER. 

‘ Q ’ (A.  T.  Quiller  Couch).  THE 
WHITE  WOLF. 


Ridge  (W.  Pett).  A SON  OF  THE  STATE. 
LOST  PROPERTY. 

GEORGE  and  THE  GENERAL. 

Russell  (W.  Clark).  ABANDONED. 

A MARRIAGE?  AT  SEA. 

MY  DANISH  SWEETHEART. 

HIS  ISLAND  PRINCESS. 


Ingraham  (J.  H.).  THE  THRONE  OF 
DAVID. 

Le  Queux  (W.).  THE  HUNCHBACK  OF 
WESTMINSTER. 

Levett= Yeats  (S.  K.).  THE  TRAITOR’S 
WAY. 

Linton  (E.  Lynn).  THE  TRUE  HIS- 
TORY OF  JOSHUA  DAVIDSON. 

Lyall  (Edna).  DERRICK  VAUGHAN. 
Malet  (Lucas).  THE  CARISSIMA. 

A COUNSEL  OF  PERFECTION. 

Mann  (Mrs.).  MRS.  PETER  HOWARD. 
A LOST  ESTATE. 

THE  CEDAR  STAR. 

ONE  ANOTHER’S  BURDENS. 
Marchmont  (A.  W.).  MISER  HOAD- 
LEY’S  SECRET. 

A MOMENT’S  ERROR. 

Marryat  (Captain).  PETER  SIMPLE. 
JACOB  FAITHFUL. 


Sergeant  (Adeline).  THE  MASTER  OF 

BEECHWOOD. 

BARBARA’S  MONEY. 

THE  YELLOW  DIAMOND. 

THE  LOVE  THAT  OVERCAME. 
Sr.srtees  (R.  S.).  HANDLEY  CROSS. 
MR.  SPONGE’S  SPORTING  TOUR. 
ASK  MAMMA. 

Walford  (Mrs.  L.  B.).  MR.  SMITH. 

COUSINS. 

THE  BABY’S  GRANDMOTHER. 
Wallace  (General  Lew).  BEN-HUR. 
THE  FAIR  GOD. 

Watson  (H.  B.  Marriott).  THE  ADVEN- 
TURERS. 

Weekes  (A.  B.).  PRISONERS  OF  WAR. 
Wells  (H.  G.).  THJE  SEA  LADY. 

White  (Percy).  A PASSIONATE 
PILGRIM, 


